Elizabeth Adams's Blog, page 3

Wanting to Fly, but Sitting Still

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Our weather is changing toward spring, at least, and that means windy days. The other morning when I got up, I noticed a gull playing with the wind off the top edge of the building next to ours, two floors below my window. There must have been a strong updraft, because the bird was able to stay nearly motionless until it decided to soar, which it repeatedly did, balancing in the draft, then soaring in a circle, coming back over the roof to catch the updraft again and play with it.

From our tall perch in this high-rise, we see a lot of bird activity — migrating hawks and geese, herons with their outstretched legs moving from an inner city pond to the river, peregrine falcons hunting the pigeons that sweep in flocks around the tall buildings, and many many gulls. It’s their flight, their speed, and their freedom that fascinate me the most.

How I would like to do that, I thought, watching the gull that morning. And I immediately thought of the African-American spiritual, “I’ll Fly Away” -

I’ll fly away, oh glory,

I’ll fly away.

When I die, hallelujah by and by,

I’ll fly away.

and of Psalm 55: “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest.”

These associations told me I wasn’t thinking just of the pleasure of flight under one’s own power, but of that other meaning of the word flight: Fleeing. Escape.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this thought. However, there’s nowhere to go, since the entire world is being convulsed right now. I’m so fortunate to be in Canada to begin with, even with all the threats and tariffs. I still have the freedom to speak my mind, to move around without fear of being searched or stopped, or worry that this is happening to others, to live in a country where education and research aren’t under threat, where truth has meaning, and democracy is honored.

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Christ before Pilate, Duccio di Buoninsegna

Holy Week began yesterday, with the observance of Palm (or Passion) Sunday. Many times, over this week, we will hear and reflect upon the events at the end of the human life of Jesus of Nazareth: a story of injustice, unfair accusation by the Roman authorities and a local populace clamoring, moblike, for a scapegoat; suffering and humiliation; abandonment by his closest friends; and finally an extremely cruel death.

It’s always been impossible for me to separate these events of 2,000 years ago from the modern world, but never more so than this year. I don’t need to name all the examples: you know them as well as I do. But I can tell you that, in spite of that longing for flight that I felt a few days ago, I’m aware that what I really have to do is simply sit with all of it. I will try to welcome the opportunities that this week presents for deep reflection and personal accountability. I’ve never felt I had to believe with absolute certainty all the theology surrounding Easter — resurrection, atonement and the rest — in order to let this story enter me and affect me. Easter, for me, is less about a promise of life after death, but about transformation in the here and now.

To me, that’s what this annual time is really for: to help us ask the question of who we should be right now, today, and in the days going forward. As we listen to the different characters in the passion play, are we a bystander who watches for a while and then goes back to our own life, unchanged? Are we a disciple who denies our relationship and runs away? Are we part of the rabble calling for blood? Can we imagine ourselves as a soldier, a judge, a high priest? The man carrying Jesus’ cross? One of the two thieves crucified at the same time? Are we one of the women who stayed at a distance, and then brought spices and ointments to anoint the body? Are we the empathetic man who offered the tomb? This week, more than ever, we may ask, what is our role in this story as it plays out today?

During Lent, I didn’t give anything up. I continued to eat sweets and chocolate, drink the occasional glass of wine, eat meat — it seemed like things were hard enough without beating myself up with disciplines like these. But I did take on an inner challenge: I tried not to hate. Whenever I felt those thoughts arising, I tried to notice them, take a deep breath, and stop short of hatred. It was, frankly, one of the harder mental exercises I’ve ever done. I couldn’t even say to myself, as Jesus supposedly did, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The people in question do know what they’re doing. They know it very well, and they don’t care. They have even said that “empathy is a weakness.” However, most of us know better. Hatred doesn’t do me any good; in fact it’s like swallowing a bitter pill that leaves a terrible taste, affecting me far more than its object. I haven’t achieved empathy for the perpetrators of so much destruction and cruelty, but I am managing to turn away from feelings of hatred and anger, and instead focus on love of those who are suffering, and on my own desire to serve. This is, I think, healthier for me, and more productive in general, and it keeps me from feeling like I want to fly away.

Whether you are observing Holy Week, or Passover, or just the arrival of spring, please use a little time this week to sit with the uncomfortable feelings as well as the joyful ones, and let empathy and service be part of what you search for.

One Brushstroke at a Time

 





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Saturday street market in Buenavista, CDMX. Oil on linen canvas, 18” x 18”.

I don’t know what you’ve been doing to keep your wits about you, while madness rampages over the globe, but I’ve been painting.

Working on this painting of a Mexico city neighborhood for a few hours every day, over the past two weeks, has not only been absorbing and challenging, but has also plunged me back into the joy of oil painting. I love watercolor, but it comes with frustration and tension. Oil painting, for me, is a sensuous pleasure even when it’s hard. Unlike watercolor, it’s forgiving — you can always wipe things out, repaint, or make corrections, as I did many times in this painting. Here’s the process it went through.

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This was the original drawing done on location, from a balcony on the top level of the Biblioteca Vasconceles in Mexico City’s Buenavista neighborhood. A garden runs along the side of the library building, which is on higher ground overlooking the city to the east. I took a number of photographs in the same direction as this drawing but taking in more of the city beyond. Those formed the basis for the painting, while the drawing was a touchstone for what attracted me in the first place. It came down to the unusual vista of the trees, especially the contrast between that tall cedar and the deciduous trees on either side; the white tents of the street market peeking through them; and the city buildings beyond, mostly white and grey and shades of pink, with that strong diagonal street running kitty-corner across the scene.

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Here’s the initial monochrome drawing in thin oil paint on the canvas, indicating the basic values and structure.

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Working on top of that monochrome drawing, the first color strokes set the basic chromatic palette for the whole picture. I’m using a very limited set of pigments: Ultramarine Blue, Brilliant Green, Viridian, Yellow Ochre, Naples Yellow, Hansa Yellow, Quinacridone Red, Burnt Sienna, Indian Red, and Titanium White. The support is heavyweight raw linen that I stretched myself and double-primed with gesso — a lot of work, but you end up with a wonderfully receptive surface.

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My goal was to capture the sun-washed, slightly hazy atmosphere of Mexico City’s urban landscape on that day, maintaining a palette of greyed greens and pinks, with touches of yellow and aqua. Almost all of the greens contain some ultramarine blue. All the shadows are based on a combination of ultramarine blue and burnt sienna. The sky is ultramarine blue and titanium white, greyed with a slight bit of quinacridone red. Using limited pigments in this way, and mixing colors very carefully rather than using them directly from the tubes, helps maintain color harmony throughout the picture.

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In the stage above, the cityscape is filled in, the foreground is more defined, and I’m starting to work on the trees.

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With the trees in this state, the painting felt close to finished. However, I decided to simplify and focus the foreground, taking out the bushes at lower left and lower right, defining the scrubby grasses and rocks and adding some to the left side. I also emphasized the diagonal which runs perpendicular to the receding street in the center of the scene.

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This was much better. Eventually I deleted the right-hand bush, added a reverse-curve walkway in the shadowed right-hand area, and improved the dappled shade. (It was interesting to note, just now as I write this post, that the foreground diagonal and reverse curve are in my original sketch on the canvas, but had gotten obliterated as I worked.) I’ll leave it in the state below for a few weeks and then decide if I want to change anything else.

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A few details:

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Making something from scratch — whether it’s a chocolate cake, a poem or a plant you grow from seed — stands in opposition to those whose modus operandi is destruction and chaos, and heals our wounded spirits. This is where we have to start: with ourselves. The efforts to create, and to appreciate created things, bolster our recognition that destruction and its desired effect— paralysis — don’t have to prevail. Even in the worst situations, no one can take away our ability to look for the beauty and complexity of our world, and make something from it, even if it’s just words or a melody or the idea of a drawing that we hold in our head during a time of suffering or fear. I hope a lot of you are participating in demonstrations today. And I hope tonight, or tomorrow, you’ll write some words or play some music, read a good book, walk in a park or natural area or garden, or make a good meal. Let me know how it’s going with you. Sending love.

Speech Must Remain Free

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What a week, and it’s only Thursday.

On Monday, we were with the above group in front of the U.S. Consulate in Montreal, standing up for Canada’s sovereignty. Similar demonstrations took place all across Canada, at consulates in every province. I met some good people. One woman had come in from the Eastern Townships, motivated by the controversy over the small library in her community that straddles the border. As of Oct. 1, US officials will prohibit direct Canadian access to the main entrance of the Haskell Library and Opera House, which has been used cooperatively by local residents of both countries for over a hundred years. The border is marked on the floor of the library, but library patrons have always come from both sides, with patrols making sure everybody goes back where they came from and nobody unknown goes out the wrong door. Soon, Canadians wishing to use the library will be required to go through U.S. customs first.*

Citizens of the communities on both sides of the border expressed shock and sorrow at the provocative actions of the Homeland Security chief Kristy Noem, and the subsequent change in access for Canadians. According to the president of the library board, “When Noem visited she stood on the American side and said ‘U.S.A. No. 1’ and then, after crossing onto the Canadian side, said ‘the 51st state;’ she did this repeatedly.” A symbolic gesture in one small place, but it says a great deal. (CBC, March 21, 2025)

Like so many of us, each day I feel pummeled by the news. The “SignalGate” scandal of classified texts handled illegally and dangerously by the incompetent cabinet ministers and staff of the current administration has at least moved some Republican representatives to break ranks and call for investigations and accountability. One op-ed writer, who served in the military, wrote that proper handling of security issues was one of the very first trainings he received — and that if he had been responsible for such a breach, he would have been court martialed.

But to me, this breach, serious as it is, is not as chilling as the noose that is being tightened around the concept of free speech: the arrests and attempted deportations of international students who have legal status in the U.S., the withdrawal of funds and curriculum interference against institutions of higher education, the attacks on the free press and on both law firms and the judiciary itself.

There is spillover, not just across a border line on a library floor. For example: in Quebec, at the end of 2024, the provincial government’s Higher Education Minister launched an investigation into the curriculum teaching about Palestine at Dawson and Vanier Colleges. Both faculty and students have continued to protest this interference into the freedom of education at colleges, and free speech in general, noting that the Higher Education Minister has a conflict of interest: she was a former board member of the Quebec branch of the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA). (CBC news, Feb 19, 2025)

According to the CBC, “Québec Solidaire introduced a motion at Quebec's National Assembly, condemning all forms of political interference in CEGEP classrooms. The motion was supported by the Liberal Party and the Parti Québécois, but the Coalition Avenir Québec (CAQ) majority voted against it.”

I think of the remarkable city of Montreal where I am privileged to live, and how most of us view diversity as one of its strongest aspects. I live in the very mixed-ethnic neighborhood of Cote-de-Neiges. When I enter a metro car, I am always — as a white person — in the minority. This is, frankly, a good experience, and if more white people had it, the world would be different. Around me are people from all over the world, speaking many languages, wearing all sorts of clothing, from elderly to newborns. As we observe each other going about our daily lives, we see our similarities and commonalities: everybody’s cold, tired of winter, bundled up, sniffling -- in another month, we’ll all be smiling because it will be spring. We’re tolerant and accepting, as a city; we eat each other’s food and love it, we learn languages as a hobby, we travel a lot, we all share the parks, the river, our bike paths and transit system, our crazy northern climate. In the very rare events when there is a racist incident such as an attack on a mosque or a synagogue, the reaction from our city leaders and population has always been, “This is not who we are in Montreal, we won’t tolerate this kind of hatred.” This ideal of tolerance and protection includes all oppressed groups, from women to indigenous people to those of various sexual orientations and genders. When accusations of racial profiling by police arise, citizens push back. Of course racism and prejudice exist here. However, we do pretty well as a city, living together.

How I wish that more of the world could be this way — and how worried I am that it could so easily be lost! All we have to do is read the news to see what’s at stake. Last night’s video of a Tufts University graduate student being arrested on a Boston street and abducted in under four minutes by a swarm of masked, black-clothed ICE agents was absolutely terrifying. Her crime, so far as we know? Co-authoring, with three other students, a letter to the Tufts administration criticizing its position on Palestine/Israel and calling for the university to divest. She and other students and professors across the U.S. have been doxxed by Canary Mission, an organization targeting pro-Palestinian (they use the term “pro-Hamas”) activists on college campuses. This likely led to her arrest. Canary Mission also has a website in Canada, which exposes the names and faces of 431 Canadian professors, university staff, and students that the group similarly accuses.

Free speech is the bedrock of our human rights; when it’s gone, our humanity goes with it.

With Canadian federal elections coming up soon, I’m relieved to see that under Mark Carney’s leadership, the Liberal Party has climbed dramatically in the polls. I look forward to voting both on the federal level, and eventually in our province, to help ensure that our sovereignty, democracy, and the human rights of all citizens are protected to the greatest extent possible.

*It was recently announced that $140,000 in donations has been given to fund a new Canadian entrance to the Haskell Library, including $50,000 from acclaimed mystery writer Louise Penny. It’s not clear to me how access will work after Oct. 1.

Mexico City Sketchbook - Part III

On the street and inside spaces







 








 

In this final post of sketchbook pages, I’ll share some of the drawings that didn’t fit into the previous two posts, and then share a few thoughts about where I am at the moment with all that’s going on.

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In a Coyoacan market.

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Almond croissant at a favorite cafe.

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Interior of the second apartment where we stayed.

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Another cafe breakfast.

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Tall grasses in the garden of the Vasconceles library in Buenavista.

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Dappled light and fallen bougainvillea blossoms.

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Two weeks after returning home, I’m still working on this sketchbook, but thinking about doing some oil paintings of views from Mexican rooftops and balconies. This week I cleaned my studio and freed up my easel to make that possible, so we’ll see what happens.

In the meantime, in addition to daily life tasks and keeping in touch with family and friends (I spend more time on this than many people, I think), I’m reading, practicing my flute every day, and also the piano — this is sanity-preservation. I’ve also decided to make a serious effort to learn more Spanish. Language practice is one of the best ways I’ve found to keep my mind sharp, exercise my memory, and feel like I’m accomplishing something every day, even if it’s in very small increments. Duolingo isn’t perhaps the best way to learn a language, but after 1458 unbroken days of lessons, I’ve certainly made progress in Modern Greek, a difficult language to study, even though I still feel like a beginner. A month ago I switched to Spanish. It’s much easier, and knowing French and some Latin definitely helps. We’re hoping to resume the yearly trips we used to take to Mexico City, and I really want to have a better grasp of the language.

Does this mean I’m neglecting the news? Not at all. But these daily routines are helping me find a balance that works for me, and understand what helps and what doesn’t, both on a personal level and on a societal one. I’ll write more about that soon.

How are YOU doing? I’m always glad to hear from you, and I think reaching out and talking together is one of the most important things we can do for each other right now.

Reflections on an Anniversary

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On March 20, 2003, deeply distressed about the outbreak of the Iraq War and intrigued about the new medium of blogging, I began my blog, The Cassandra Pages. Those two polarities — an abhorrence of humanity’s tendency toward destruction, and an attraction to all types of creativity — have motivated what I’ve posted here, as they’ve also motivated my life.

It seems like a good time to ask readers, some of whom have been coming here since the beginning and some of whom are quite new, what you find most valuable about this blog, what keeps you coming back, and what you’d like to see more of. The Cassandra Pages has changed over time, especially after I retired from fulltime professional work and was able to focus more on my own art, but it’s always been a personal space where I’ve tried to make sense of the world through a lens of creativity, as well as sensitivity to nature, place, spirit, and the work of both contemporary writers and artists, and those of the past.

In 2003, I had recently turned 50. I hadn’t gone through the deaths of all of our parents and their generation. We hadn’t moved to Canada. I hadn’t yet written a book, though I was working on it. I hadn’t had the experience of singing in a cathedral choir, or of riding a bicycle for most of my transportation in an urban environment. I hadn’t met all the people who’ve become dear friends of mine either in Montreal or online, all over the world. I was doing very little artwork, and hadn’t even thought about starting the publishing company that would become Phoenicia Publishing. We’d never travelled to Mexico City, or Greece, Rome, or Portugal. I hadn’t had two decades of dental problems, and didn’t yet understand, on a personal level, the complexities and challenges of aging…one could go on and on.

Over those years, I’m not sure it would be right to say I’ve “changed” as much as that I’ve become more and more myself. Some of that experience is valuable, and it’s both a pleasure and serious responsibility for me when younger people ask my specific advice, which is the only time I venture to give it. And even then, I think we, as elders, do best to talk from our own experience rather than saying “you should…” As my old New England friend Jerry Burt used to say, “be careful with your ‘shoulds’” — which also applies when talking to yourself.

Here, in March of 2025, we find ourselves in a particularly dangerous, draining, and anxiety-filled time, and it’s hard to know what to say and what not to say. From my perspective as a dual citizen who spent the first 50+ years of life in the U.S., there’s a lot I see that many Canadians may not, and it’s clear to me that many Americans have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be a Canadian right now. Protecting democracy in both countries has become a top priority for many of us, and obviously I intend to do whatever I can toward that goal.

How this blog fits into that current reality is a question I’m mulling. One thing I know for certain is that many readers have told me they come here for quiet, solace, beauty: some moments of sane respite from the craziness of the world. Even if I write about politics, I don’t want anyone to come here and leave feeling worse — I want you to feel better, more hopeful, and with some renewed energy for living your own life.

For me, balance comes from the spiritual wisdom of Contemplation and Action as two sides of the same coin. “Contemplation” is a broad term that comprises many forms, from sitting meditation to knitting to walking in nature, but it is not quietism or turning away from our own problems or those that surround us. “Action” also takes many forms, suited to each individual, but always stems from the recognition that we do not exist alone, but in an interconnected web of relationship and responsibility for one another. Achieving balance —whether in one’s own personal life or in the more public ways we interact with the world — is not easy, and especially not in times like these. To the extent that I can help others, I want to try.

Thank you so much for visiting these pages over the years, whether as a longtime or relatively new reader. I’d be very happy to hear your comments, suggestions, or requests.

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Mexico City, February 2025

A Mexico City Sketchbook - Part II

The Quiet Lives of Objects
 
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Sculpture by Gabriel Orozco at the Museo Jumex, Mexico City.

Because I was dissatisfied with the first page of my sketchbook (oh, that first blank page! No wonder it stares at us!) I was reluctant to do another landscape right away. On our first full day in the city, we went to the Museo Jumex, a relatively new contemporary art museum in Polanco. We had visited it seven years ago, not long after it had opened, and loved both the building itself and the three floors of related shows. This time, after a good lunch in the small ground-floor restaurant, we spent most of the afternoon looking at a retrospective exhibition of Gabriel Orozco (no relation to the muralist, though his father worked with David Siqueiros). His work is inventive, often humorous, wide-ranging in both subject and media, and original.

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One of Orozco’s carved river rocks in the foreground, with distressed soccer balls beyond the glass wall.

In one gallery, hundreds of distressed and altered soccer balls filled a corner and were scattered along a corridor, while inside the glass walls where they rested, a giant skeleton of an invented whale-like animal hung from the ceiling, while carved river rocks — echoing the soccer balls nearby — provided grounding.

Orozco’s creations make the viewer question the notion of time and creation — what creature’s skeleton is this, hanging here like a dinosaur in a museum? Who made it? How did these pieces of rounded stone that look so familiar become carved with natural forms? What are they doing here?

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River rock carved by Gabriel Orozco. Watercolor, 5 1/4 x 8”.

I was very taken with these altered rocks, and that evening, I did a painting of one of them. It was the first detailed, dry brush watercolor I’ve done in a long while, and it led me to make several others over the course of the two weeks. I also did one pencil drawing, of a bottle brush tree flower.

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These pictures feel appropriate, not just because flowers and fruit are common subjects for me, or because I’m drawn to natural forms. Orozco’s soccer balls and rocks felt like still lives. They made me think about a more expansive definition of “still life”, especially in Mexico where color and form are omnipresent.

But they are also quiet. “Still.” Now, these drawings and paintings punctuate my sketchbook, providing moments of reflection for the viewer between busier scenes.

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The hyper-realism is a way to remember that goes beyond photography…

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…and the study that’s necessary to do one of these paintings means that I’ll never look at an citrus peel or a bougainvillea flower the same way again.

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Or a cut pineapple, for that matter.

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Looking back, remembering myself making these small paintings, I realize that they were important meditations for me at the time. Our days were busy, and full of intense sensory impressions. Sitting down to make one of these paintings was a way of centering myself and concentrating with focus and intention. And, for me, they were a witness to beauty that, belying their subjects’ fragility, stood as a bulwark against the daily onslaught of news from the north.

A Mexico City Sketchbook - Part I

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Street scene with bougainvillea, Bahía de Todos Los Santos, Mexico City. Direct watercolor, 5 1/4” x 8”.

TECHNICAL DECISIONS AND SOLVING PROBLEMS

Our trip to Mexico City was planned for 15 days, essentially, with the first and last taken up with travel. I’d hoped to do about one sketch a day - so 12 or 13 - but managed to complete 18 pages. I’m hoping to be able to do some more from photographic references or objects over the weeks to come, while my eyes still retain the light and color memory of being there.

It’s actually hard to keep a daily sketchbook with the way we travel. We were on the go so much when out of our lodging that I never brought my watercolors with me, since I knew I wouldn’t have the time it takes to do a color sketch. Although I prefer direct watercolor sketches (like the one at the top of this post) to anything else, I decided to take a couple of fountain pens and the sketchbook with me in my purse when we went out, and to do watercolor work — either direct watercolor paintings or watercolor added to ink drawings — when we were back in the apartment.

In both of the places where we stayed, I ended up setting up a little space to work, and paying attention to the sketchbook for some time each morning and evening. The second apartment, in Coyoacan, actually had a drafting table and excellent light fixture, so I was very happy about that!

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Working on the kitchen counter in our first apartment.

I hadn’t expected to do detailed watercolors of objects, but it just kind of happened because of working at home. I gathered some blooms and pods when walking around, and also used fruits that we had purchased to eat. This became a thread that weaves throughout the sketchbook, as well as a meditation for me as I worked on them. I’ll devote a post to those pieces later on.

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The very first sketch, done in ink on location in the Chapultepec woods, displeased me when I added the color:

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Chapultepec woods.

I tend to prefer landscape scenes drawn in ink or pencil alone, or done in watercolor only, because they look to me more like art and less like illustrations. It depends what you’re trying to do. Nevertheless, as it turned out, I did use ink-plus-watercolor, or ink-plus-light washes, for quite a few of the pages. I made sure to take photos of the ink drawings alone before adding color, to keep a record of both.

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In this pair of before-and-after drawings, the washes in olive green and light blue-grey, below, are really helpful in bringing out the depth and definition of the scene depicted.

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Saturday street market and neighborhood seen from the Vasconceles library, Buenavista.

A problem arose halfway through our trip - my favorite fountain pen ran out of ink. I had brought more ink (in a repurposed eye drop bottle). The pen uses a cartridge that I refill with a dental syringe with a thick tip, but I hadn’t wanted to fly with that, thinking it might be flagged. First I went to an art supply store, but the best they could do were some pipettes. When I tried using them to refill the cartridge, the holes were too big and the ink flowed way too fast — I narrowly avoided making a huge mess. A few days later I went to a pharmacy and asked (with the help of Google Translate) for a syringe the size I needed. It was no problem to purchase, so I was able to get my pen back in order.

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An ink drawing in the cactus garden of the Viveros arboretum in Coyoacan, using my fude-nib pen.

In the meantime, though, I had been using my Sailor fude-nib pen, which creates a variable line depending on the angle and pressure. It was filled with the same olive green-grey ink (Noodler’s “El Lawrence”) as my preferred fountain pen, and I decided to use it rather than my back-up fountain pen, a Moonman filled with blue ink, because at that point the sketchbook had a coherence, I felt, because of the same color ink being used throughout.

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View southwest from a Coyoacan rooftop

However, one of my favorite drawings (above) was done during that interim period with that blue ink pen, which has a very fine nib. I had gone up on the rooftop one morning to hang up some laundry to dry, and was struck by the landscape I saw. The fude-nib pen was simply too thick to do justice to the drawing I imagined, so I used the blue ink pen with its fine nib. Its problem, in addition to the ink color, is that it tends to leak during flights. I didn’t realize the seal had leaked until I was nearly done with this sketch, and suddenly a large blob fell on the trees in the upper left! Nothing to do but accept it as part of the accidental nature of life and art! This sketch, which didn’t take too long to create, showed me that I’ve progressed in my ability to simplify and draw complex urban perspectives.

As you can maybe infer from what’s written and illustrated here, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want a travel sketchbook to be, and how to give it coherence as a document or record of a place or a period in time. I didn’t impose a single vision on this one, but tried various techniques and styles (and you’ll see more subsequently). I was happy that my work feels solid enough now that I can experiment and think in this way, rather than just being gratified to get something down on paper and not ruin too many pages. I wanted to allow spontaneity to show me things too. If I’d been rigid and refused to use my blue pen that day, for instance, that sketch wouldn’t have happened, and I’d be sorry. A sketchbook, after all, isn’t meant to be a book of finished, perfected drawings, but faster impressions of distinct moments in time that contain, one hopes, traces of the artist’s hand as well as their choices of what to stop and draw, and their feelings as they do so.

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International Women's Day, Montreal

This morning, my husband and I participated in a demonstration outside the U.S. Consulate in Montreal in observance of International Women’s Day, and in protest against the assault on women’s rights taking place in the U.S. The leaders spoke, both in French and English, in solidarity with American women and the American people, while saying “We are strong, we will never surrender.” During ten minutes of silence we remembered women who have been victims of violence in both our countries, and particularly the young women who were killed in the anti-feminist Ecole Polytechnic Massacre in 1989 — an event that shocked and further galvanized the already-strong women’s movement here in Quebec.

I was very glad to be part of this event today, to feel the intensity and deep emotion of the crowd of thousands gathered in freezing weather, to read the signs they had brought, and more especially to see the emotion and determination in the faces of the people.

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This great sign says, “Know Your Parasites! Prevent fascist-borne disease in Canada!” and under the photos: “Deer tick,” “dog tick,” “Lunatick” (under Trump). and “Psychotick,” (under Musk.) Photo © 2025 Jonathan Sa’adah.

It’s been a very difficult week. We are beginning to see how far this administration intends to go to stifle dissent and free speech, both inside and outside the government; to attack the economic security and sovereignty of nations including Canada; to steal from the people and destroy the very foundations of government. Staunch allies and defenders of democracy have been attacked and disrespected, as the administration sides with Putin and other right-wing dictators. They’re talking about pardoning the killer of George Floyd. Arts events featuring black and ethnic artists are being cancelled all over the country. The removal of 400 million dollars of federal grants and contracts from Columbia University, on charges of antisemitism for allowing pro-Palestinian demonstrations last year, bodes very badly for the right of universities to free speech, dissent, and autonomy — and may result in widespread purges of faculty and staff. This is McCarthyism. Worse yet, all of these accusations are based partly or fully on lies.

The majority of Americans, and the majority of the world, know this, but the Republican Congress, cowed by Musk’s threats to defeat any disloyal members by buying the next elections, is almost entirely acquiescent, ignoring their vow to uphold the Constitution. Institutions, fearing the loss of funding, are caving in prematurely. Most faith leaders have been disturbingly silent. The Democrats have yet to mount any kind of coherent, organized opposition, leaving this to elders like Bernie Sanders, who, in his 80s, is on a tour of town halls in the Midwest, taking directly to voters.

Racism, misogyny, and hatred of anyone who isn’t white, heterosexual and male lie at the bottom of this far-right doctrine. I read a good part of Project 2025 this week. It’s all in there, laid out clearly, and it is chilling. Take a look at the list of words the Trump administration is banning from government websites and using as grounds for withdrawing grant awards (this list was culled from search terms searched and flagged in National Science Foundation grants). Do you see anything referring to male, men, masculinity? Of course not. But the rest of us are in the crosshairs.

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The signs read: “C’est mon corps” - “It’s my body”; “Femmes souveraines” - “Sovereign Women”; C”e ne sont pas le femmes qui sont fragiles, ce sont leur droits” - “It’s not women who are fragile, it’s their rights,” “Queers Against Trump, Nazis, Poilievre” (Pierre Poilievre is the conservative candidate for Prime Minister) and - my favorite - “You can’t erase the one who creates.” Photo © 2025 Jonathan Sa’adah.

In Canada, and in the media and on talk shows, some are still treating Trump’s anti-Canadian threats as a joke, but he’s absolutely serious. We have to act quickly and decisively to strengthen our bonds and our country and prepare for a rough near-future. In a published comment to The New York Times on the article linked in this paragraph, I wrote:

Cassandra | Montreal
@Stefan Bichis Thank you for stating the clear and present danger, and the lack of serious reporting, Stefan. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I'd lie awake at night thinking about real possibilities like these, while much of the media are still treating them as a joke. Have Americans considered how rapidly their government is making them far less safe from terrorism, through Trump's threats against Gaza and support for the annexation of the West Bank, for instance? My father fought alongside Canadians in WWII; now Trump trashes the sacrifices and trust of all of America's allies. When are people going to get real?

Make no mistake: we cannot count on our elected governments to do this for us — we, the people, have to make ourselves heard. That means you. I’ve been an activist all my life, so it’s not difficult for me, but I understand why it can be hard for those who’ve never gotten involved. If you need encouragement, write to me, and I’ll try to help! But please find something to do, and do it; don’t expect others to do the work of upholding your current way of life. That’s what protecting democracy means. It comes down to WE, the PEOPLE.

Put your feet on the ground during demonstrations at your state capitals, in your own city, at Tesla dealerships— numbers do matter, and you will feel better to be in company with like-minded people. Get off Facebook and X. Stop buying from Amazon and supporting the billionaires who are bankrolling the far-right. Sign up and write Postcards for Voters. Join Indivisible or MoveOn; donate to these and other progressive organizations such as the ACLU. Keep contacting your representatives. Canadians, join the Pledge for Canada. As much as possible, buy Canadian. Cancel your US travel.

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There were a lot of kids whose parents had brought them, and a number of supportive men too. Photo © 2025 Jonathan Sa’adah.

On this important day, I want to say a final word to my fellow women: there are those who want to silence and erase us, but that will never be possible. Women’s solidarity is the most powerful counter-force in the world against violence, hatred and the destruction of human rights and human life, and it has always been so. Don’t ever forget it! Please use your one life and your one voice in support of what you know to be true, and never allow fear to stop you.

(I promise the next post will be about art, beauty, and self-preservation in the face of all the negativity we’re exposed to right now.)

A Letter from the Neighbors

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Mural on Cierre de Circuito Cetram, Chapultepec, Mexico City

I’ve just returned to Canada after two weeks in Mexico City. Just when our return flight left the Gulf of Mexico and entered American air space, the pilot announced that we would be entering “a zone of moderate or severe turbulence.” He wasn’t being ironic. As it turned out, the turbulence we felt wasn’t too bad — but we were, after all, far up in the sky and the pilot was able to make adjustments...

During those two flights, which I’ve taken a number of times, I was never more aware of Canada and Mexico’s positions as neighbors of the United States, and, now, of the unenviable status we share. I traced our route on the in-flight map, thinking about familiar places in the U.S., my original home. But I have never been happier to fly over it without stopping, to spend my time and money in Mexico — a country and a people I love — and then go home to Canada.

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A small portion of Mexico City, seen from the air not long before landing.

Being in Mexico City was both wonderful and clarifying. In that vast metropolis of 22 million people, a small percentage are wealthy but the majority are definitely not. In the streets and subways you are confronted with human suffering and afflictions one would rarely encounter on the streets of an American or Canadian city. Water flowed freely in our hotel and rented apartments, but up on the sides of the volcanic mountains ringing the city, many Mexicans have none, and are forced to walk long distances to carry water back to their homes, or rely on spotty water deliveries by truck. The level of security on homes in more affluent neighborhoods — heavy locked gates, wrought iron pickets, mortared broken glass on tops of walls, and even coils of razor wire — as well as guards armed with shotguns or even machine guns outside some businesses, showed that theft and violence are feared and even expected.

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Itinerant vegetable stall, with artichokes and asparagus, in Coyoacan.

Yet, it was clear that no matter what, daily life goes on. In that society, where the family is strong and central, people take care of each other; give pesos to beggars; support their local economies by buying from street vendors, many of whom are indigenous; participate in churches and other organizations that help those in need. Are they happy or unhappy? Some are definitely suffering. But I saw much more joy, laughter, awareness of others, kindness and genuine helpfulness than I usually do in public places at home. I observed this in simple interactions over food or travel; I felt it particularly when I talked to people in more detail or found myself in groups where we were all sharing or enjoying something together — music, dance, gardens, walking in a park, buying juice from a street vender. People are simply more human with each other. When someone gets up to give you their seat on the subway, they smile at you and speak, and make sure to make eye contact again when one of you leaves the car. Standing around a group of musicians playing on the street, the crowd interacts, dancing and catching each other’s eyes to share in the pleasure — and these are mixed groups of strangers, from the well-dressed to the tattered, all bonded by this moment of discovery and sharing of something joyful that is being given for free.

 

Dancing in the Alameda Central - a park in the center of Mexico City — on a Saturday night.

It made me think a lot about the time I spend sitting at my computer, versus the time I am with others. The time I spend in my head thinking, anticipating, and worrying — as opposed to really being in the present moment, doing things with my hands, actually learning something, having conversations, playing my instruments, observing the real world. The time I spend agonizing about politics and governmental failures, when so much of the power to make others feel better, and to make life happier, lies with each of us — and will continue to do so, no matter what happens in the larger world.

I did a lot of drawing while we were there. I tried to do at least one page in my sketchbook every day, and ended up with a bit more than that — with lots of material I hope to add now that we’re back home. I’ll show you more in subsequent posts, and try to share more of the beauty and complexity that we were fortunate to be immersed in.

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Mural depicting Emiliano Zapata (8 August 1879 – 10 April 1919), peasant leader of the Mexican Revolution, by the painter David Alfaro Siqueiros. Soumaya Museum, CDMX.

Most of all, I was grateful to fall in love again with this astonishing city I’ve visited many times before, but hadn’t seen for seven years. It’s big, it’s difficult, it’s very old and very new at the same time — amazing, and bottomless. In the Mexicans’ resilience, tenacity, and pride, I felt encouraged about humanity’s ability to rise above authoritarianism. I’m rooting for them, and you can be sure they are rooting for us up here in Canada.

Anticipation

 



 










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Mexico City interior, sketched in 2018.

On Monday evening, we’re hoping to board an Air Canada jet and fly to Mexico City. Watching the snow fall all day, and listening to the strong winds howling outside my window, I’m glad our flight isn’t scheduled for tonight, because I’m not sure it would take off. There’s more snow coming over the weekend. Fingers crossed.

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Same room, different angle. On the couch is a sweater-in-progress that I was knitting — and now wear all the time. I packed that same little ink bottle and sea sponge today.

For six or seven years, we went to Mexico City for a couple of weeks nearly every winter. Our last trip was in 2018. We had planned to go there in early March 2020: ill-fated timing. Here’s the beginning of a blog entry back then:

Monday, March 8, 2020

We were supposed to be waking up this morning in the warmth and color of Mexico City, but instead, I'm looking out the window at wan sunshine on melting ice, and the grey snow that lines the streets of Montreal. Like many other people, we reluctantly cancelled our travel plans at the last minute -- in fact, half an hour before we were going to call the taxi to the airport -- and have been trying to re-set our heads as well as our clocks, and adjust to an unpredictable and uncharted short-term future.

In the next paragraphs I write about what we’ll be doing “for the next weeks.” My choices of words brought home the optimism many of us felt — that the period of caution would be over in a matter of weeks or a few months. I wonder what we all would have done if we’d been told the pandemic would last for years, disrupt all of our lives, and cause the deaths of so many millions of people. Good thing we didn’t know. And I wonder what I’ll feel, looking back at this post five years from now, written at the beginning of another unpredictable and scary period of time.

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A watercolor of a red bottle-brush tree flower, Mexico City, 2017.

Tonight, after a day where the view from my window resembled Siberia, I’m trying to concentrate on sunshine and the colors of painted stucco, bougainvillea, and jacaranda trees. I spent time this afternoon getting my art supplies in order, cleaning my small watercolor palette box, making a swatch strip to make sure those were the colors I wanted to take, cleaning and refilling fountain pens, choosing a small group of mechanical pencils and travel brushes, and packing it as efficiently as possible.

I’m anxious to see how my sketching has improved since I was last in Mexico City. There’s so much detail and complexity in every view — this used to be a big problem for me but I hope I’ve gotten better. The biggest obstacle I anticipate is not having enough hours for it, since we always go with the intention to take plenty of time for photography and drawing, but end up doing far more moving around each day than we planned. For the first part of the trip, we’ll be staying in Mexico City itself, and then we’ll move to the quieter southern area of Coyoacan.

I look forward to sending you some pictures of beauty from our North American neighbor in the south. I also hope that it will be a restorative and strengthening period of time, and that I return with renewed hope in humanity and more ideas for what I can do to help.

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Colonia Roma, looking west.