Elizabeth Adams's Blog, page 64

Clivia, Crown of Thorns, and Begonia

Another houseplant sketch in my landscape-format sketchbook. Here are the two sides, somewhat larger. I was mainly trying to keep it loose and fast, paying attention to what makes each species unique in form. In a finished composition, the forms would overlap more and the negative spaces between them would need to relate, but a sketch like this shows me things. The right-hand side, if cropped more on the right, is a better composition on its own, for instance. I really want to get back to drawing every day: it's so vital. (Here's a previous, related sketch.)

 

Have a good weekend, everybody. Our community garden opens on Sunday but when I walked to work today it was still only about 5 degrees C. Hope it's warmer where you are!

Easters Past

Ah, those were the sartorial days! I was looking through old photos for Throwback Thursday on FB, and found this gem from the spring of 1971, too good not to share with you here. My friend college Barbara S. had come home with me for a weekend, or maybe it was Easter -- but check out those outfits! I had made that dress (yes, it really is purple paisley) and still remember how soft the fabric felt; I think it was viyella. The unflattering shoes are definitely vintage, not to mention the long hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and Barb's purple velveteen bell bottoms and embroidered shirt.

I have some other gems from those decades that I'll post eventually.

Gosh.

 

Easter Weekend

The new light from the Pascal candle, lit from a fire made outside and brought into the darkness, is shared and spreads through the cathedral as the Dean sings the Exultet or "Easter Proclamation." It's a long chanted prayer that includes the repetition of the words "this is the night" with mentions of Passover and other events in the history of the Judaeo-Christian people, and also includes a beautiful stanza in praise of the bees, when the candles are blessed.

Here's my friend and fellow second soprano Christie, cadging a quiet moment in the organ loft between sung pieces to do some law school work.

 

The cathedral spire and some of the other towers of downtown Montreal on Easter morning at 8:30 am, as I arrived for rehearsal.

The men who sleep on our front porch and on the grounds were just waking up. Some are homeless, some just passing through.

Daffodils, trying hard!

And a message of hope and renewal on the front doors.

Well, that was strange...but I'm back

TypePad was the victim of a DDoS attack last weekend (maybe perpetrated by the mother of all those chocolate Easter bunnies) and ended up being down for about six days. If you tried to visit here and got an "unknown domain" message, that was why. It was certainly frustrating, and a bit scary, for those of us who use this blogging platform. On the other hand, I've been using their service for eleven years and have never had a problem before, so I'm not about to jump ship. There are some questions about how long Typepad will remain as a viable platform; this is the bigger "if" for me, but the work involved in switching to WordPress is pretty daunting for someone like me who has such an extensive archive. For the time being, I'll sit tight, but consider the options.

Meanwhile, back to posting -- coming soon, photos of Easter at the cathedral, and spring valiantly trying to arrive.

Empty (Holy Week 4)

Quebec braided palms, and a Nahua palm-leaf basket from Mexico.

In the Darkness (Holy Week 3)

Massive painting of the crucifixion from the 17th-century Ex-Convent of El Carmen, San Angel, Mexico.

Gethsemanii (Holy Week 2)

Churchyard, Lavenham, England. (2011)

Hidden. (Holy Week 1)

It's Wednesday in Holy Week, and I'm singing nearly every day, so I'm not going to be around here much except for posting a few photographs. And, after all those Mexican posts, I need to take a litte break!

This wrought iron knocker and grill were on a door in Coyoacan, and now that I look at them I think it must have been the front door for a convent or monastery; the wooden panel behind the cross probably slides out of the way so the person inside can see who is at the door. All the buildings on that street had tall walls along the narrow sidewalk and you couldn't tell what was inside or whether they were residences or offices or public buildings of some sort. Occasionally a door was ajar, and you could peek inside into a beautiful, mysterious courtyard, or an entrance hall.

Best wishes to all who are observing religious holidays this week.

People to People

For my final Mexico City post, I have to come back to the real source of the country's warmth: it's not the sun, but the people. Everywhere we went, we were generously and warmly welcomed. Sometimes people simply came up to us, wanting to say hello, try out their English, ask us some questions about our impressions, and in every case we were glad to meet them and happy to have had these interactions. I know Mexico has gotten a bad rap because of crime, both petty and major, and I don't mean to downplay the fact that there are dangerous places and violent people there, just as there are in the U.S. or other countries. But it seems to us that a careful and savvy visitor can do a great deal to avoid unpleasantness, and gain a huge amount by engaging with this beautiful country and its people.

Of course, I was fascinated by the artisans. This woman, for instance, was crocheting so fast her hands were a blur. Absolutely beautiful handcrafts are available, usually made by the Indians, at very low prices. However, a close observation of this economy, which caters to tourists, brings up many less-comfortable questions. Near the Zocalo, vendors who spread their goods on blankets on the pavement are routinely harrassed by the authorities, and periodically driven from the central locations to less-desirable places further away.

The prices for some handmade goods seem simply too cheap, and I wondered how much the makers were actually receiving: for instance, I bought a beautiful handmade blouse, covered with intricate embroidery, for about $30. A textile expert I met online told me that this is the last generation of native women who are wearing and making these traditional textiles, so not only are they receiving very little for their handwork, the craft itself is endangered. The tourist economy helps to assure both livelihood and continuation of the crafts, but the situation is far more complex that I was able to ascertain. The Indians are the lowest on the socal ladder, with the least chance of mobility, the greatest poverty, the lowest level of education. The darker your skin, the more prejudice there will be against you, the more doors that are closed, the more menial the labor, the worse your health care.

In tourist areas like San Angel, site of one of the best handicraft markets, open only on Saturdays, the light-skinned tourists enjoy excellent food and drinks in lovely open-air restaurants, while native people sell their goods or provide musical serenades outside the restaurant enclosures, which are guarded by restaurant bouncers. Restaurant hosts and hostesses tend to be lighter-skinned and fluent in English, while the racial hierarchy extends down through the waiters, the busboys and girls, the kitchen staff. This woman stood outside the fence for several hours while we ate our lunch, and the man below hawked his handfuls of artichokes, while I grew increasingly uncomfortable and she grew visbily more and more fatigued.

 

 

More affluent vendors are able to rent stalls in the market itself, pooerer ones sell from a blanket or wander the streets, sending their children -- with a handful of textiles or toys -- after tourists as well. I finally gave this little girl some pesos, after she came up to me the third time trying to sell a shawl.

The poorest of the poor simply sit on the streets with an outstretched hands, plaintively crying as you go by, while a few steps away, better-off people are buying and selling, or all dressed up for a wedding or a party.

If Mexico City can be condensed at all, perhaps it can simply be called a city of great contrasts. Wealth exists -- often behind lock, key, barbed wire and armed guards -- and luxuries like these beaded gowns are openly available...

...while third-world poverty is equally apparent.

In such a context, we can bring our first-world values and judgments with us, and exist within a bubble where we can visit comfortably. Or we can allow ourselve to be unsettled. Part of that latter experience, for me, is not only seeing desperate poverty, disability, and illness at close range, and allowing it to be painful and disturbing, but also being reminded that happiness does not always depend on money, and the acquisition of more. Happiness also depends on our ability to be in each moment and to enjoy simple things, rather than following out each anxiety and attempting to control our fate because we are terrified of death. Other people in the world know more about actually living than many of us do.

And so I remember the exuberant colors of Mexican textiles, the spiciness of the food, the joyful music, the warmth of families -- and finally come back to the two women we met on our first day, at the Guadalupe market, and their love-cakes. I know I have a lot to learn.

 

Pattern Everywhere