Elizabeth Adams's Blog, page 93

At the SAAQ

Yesterday morning I spent quite a while waiting at the SAAQ, the Société de l'assurance automobile du Québec, better known in English as the motor vehicle bureau. If you're going to sit and draw for an hour while waiting for your turn, it's nice to be where other people are stuck sitting still too!

I rode my bike over there first thing in the morning, which was probably dumb. This particular office, on rue Molson (yes, named after the brewing family), is where you go if you want a taxi license, and when I arrived there was already a line of many men -- all men, actually -- waiting to take their taxi exam. In Montreal the majority of taxi drivers are from Africa. After I had taken my number  -- A17 -- from the machine I sat down in the waiting area below a big screen displaying the current numbers being served  -- A3 -- and at which window. All the men came and sat in a clump behind me near the door that leads to the exit and the examiners, and all the while I waited they talked to each other in a murmer of languages, some Arabic but mostly African languages I didn't recognize at all. I had the sense that many were accompanied by friends who were already taxi drivers. It was so tempting to draw them, but couldn't without turning around and attracting attention, or perhaps even cause offense. One man was particularly striking, in a long white robe and a beautifully crocheted white skullcap.

Bureaucratic tasks like this made me so nervous when we first came here, but it's gotten a lot easier. When I arrived at the window to renew my own driver's license and health system card, the exchange was all in French; I managed it and the clerk didn't switch, though he was certainly bilingual - my own minor exam success for the day. Because I had waited a while since they sent me the notice of renewal, he handed me back my present license and a provisional new one on a piece of paper, saying to be sure to keep them together because I probably wouldn't receive the card until after my birthday. Then he sent me over to the far window to have my picture taken, and I was amused to see that the person behind the camera was the same young man who had been in front of me on the bike path, an hour earlier. Click!

That Chill in the Air

There's a slight air of desperation here in Montreal, as August tips inevitably toward September, and the nights, if not the days, grow cooler. This morning at 8 am I saw a little boy practicing skateboard tricks, bang bang bang, his capped head bent studiously toward his feet as he tried to jump the curb again and again. 8 am! But time is running out, as he knows even better than I do; school will start here in another week, and the gates will clang shut on summer, leaving the pools and all-day playgrounds and long free days behind them.

Last weekend I heard children screaming as they were carried out of the park. That's unusual here. How do they know? Women are wearing scarves again, even sweaters. The short bare dresses are gone from the shop windows, replaced by leather coats and, for god's sake, boots! Boots! Our annual community garden party was on Saturday night, and by the end of it we were all huddling together, surprised by the chill in the air, but knowing by the signs the plants have been giving us that they're tired, drying out, ready to retreat under the ground rather than continuing upward, chasing the already-receding sun.

I feel it too. Choir will begin soon, and with it twelve hours of every week -- hours that I've used this summer for writing and art -- will be re-allocated to music. I have the same mixed feelings I used to have about school; I enjoyed the break, but something, some internal clock, knows it's time to go back to a different routine. I miss singing, and I miss my friends. I've agreed to lead a monthly gathering for contemplation/meditation at the cathedral, too, and there are three new books coming out at Phoenicia between now and Christmas. There will be some professional work with tight deadlines. Besides that, there are many people I care about and talk to regularly -- friends and family both, of which you are a part. They matter to me very much, actually more than most of what was in the list above.

But something has changed for me this summer. I think it's that I've finally reclaimed my identity as an artist; it's clear to me that this is what I want to do with a significant portion of my time, and therefore I feel even more protective of that most precious commodity. Managing time has always been a pretty intense juggling act, but I feel it even more so now, especially with a big birthday coming up in a month. 

The requisite word is No. I've gotten better at saying it, but it's never easy. The trickiest thing is saying it to myself: no, you can't do all the things you want to do, you have to focus, and you have to choose wisely, because -- as my French teacher used to love to repeat -- "Remember, class! Time marches on.

Forest Primeval II

Here's the two-color version of the image, just dry enough to scan this afternoon. I had a nerve-wracking time making them yesterday; the studio was really hot, and I had a difficult a time positioning the second (black) block in register with the already-printed green image. But it worked out well, in the end, and I am learning a lot with each one of these that I do. The black-and-white version pleases me just as much; they're simply different. I made a small edition of these on white Japanese paper.

It's funny...while I was working on these, on one side of the studio, J. was making high-tech photographic prints on his Epson roll printer on the other side. He looked over at one point, holding a print in one hand; I was standing there in my apron, covered with ink. Look at us! he said, laughing. So typical of us...you doing this medieval process, and me, on the computer.

I laughed too, but it's not entirely true. I used the computer a lot in the development of this image. It fascinates me that we have so many tools now to aid the creative process, and to be able to share work with each other across huge distances. The monks in their scriptoriums and the pioneers of relief printing couldn't have dreamed of that, but what they did still amazes and inspires me, and I love the tactile nature of this process -- carving the blocks, rolling the ink, and watching the magical transfer of ink to paper as a print takes shape. It's wonderful.

 

 

 

Creativity as a Radical Act

To continue yesterday's thread...

What I have realized in the past few years is that, while socio-political issues matter tremendously to me, and I think that political activism is terribly important, for me, at this point, too much immersion in politics kills my creativity. It's pretty much either/or. The energy that it takes for me to be committed and active in politics makes it almost impossible for me to do art or music or write at the level I want to.

It's impossible to keep one's involvement on the level of the issues alone. The negativity, polarization, and rhetoric surrounding political action in the U.S., especially since 9/11, and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, made me feel helpless after a while. It was possible to help break down barriers about homosexuality and religion,and I'm very glad I was involved in that struggle. It was possible to help dismantle some stereotypes about the Middle East, about Islam, about an inevitable "clash of civilizations" -- but only very slowly, and on a local level, almost person-to-person. The struggle against the power of money and corporations and the military, the choice to locate and exhaust the planet's fossil fuels while destroying the entire ecosystem -- I'm not sure fighting these battles is possible anymore through the system itself; maybe only a collapse will cause wholesale change. When it comes to matters of war, peace, and the power of the strong over the weak, we have learned very little over the millenia.

I was involved very intentionally for a long while; it changed me for the better, and I know my efforts did some good.  But I knew that eventually I'd have to make some decisions about what I wanted to do with my remaining time -- time that seems to feel ever shorter and more precious.

My mother wanted me to go into politics. It wouldn't have been a bad fit, in some ways, and I was invited once to run for the Vermont legislature -- but I said no. We each have to look at our own gifts and what we're passionate about, as well as where our lives have led us, and what possibilities are open to us at a particular time - and make the most of them. If we don't do that, we may have to live with big regrets. And we also have to ask: where can I make the most difference? For me, the greatest passion has always been for the arts. I've been fortunate to be able to spend most of my professional career as a graphic designer, a field closely related to the fine arts, and now to have some additional time to devote to work other than the kind that pays the bills.

But the decision to focus on art and on writing -- both my own and other people's -- and to try to minimize the many distracting, conflicting, enticing calls for involvement in other pursuits and other projects -- comes at a time when it's particularly hard to be an artist or a writer, let alone a publisher. There's a lot of discouragement around, and many obstacles which have never been quite so daunting: economic, governmental, social and cultural changes are all contributing, and these combine with and magnify the personal challenges that have always existed for people who live creative lives.

The fact is that we are living in a time when the decision to be an artist, to continue to create in spite of everything that's happening around us, IS a radical political act. This is, I feel, quite a dark time, potentially destructive to the best and most noble aspects of the human spirit. And that's precisely why it is terribly important for artists in all disciplines to continue to create, even when it feels like there's little market and little appreciation for our work. Just doing it, and making the difficult decision to continue to do it -- to live creative lives that celebrate what life is and can be - is both defiant and affirming, and it's crucially important. People need to know that someone they know -- a neighbor, a friend, a cousin -- is committed to the arts. Young people particularly need to know this.

The arts don't exist against anything except apathy, destructiveness, despair. They stand for what's good, and true, and beautiful even when they express sadness, grief, outrage, or pain -- which they can often do better than any other method. And if the traditional structures that supported artists are crumbling, then we have to form our own, and help each other - without cynicism, without anger, without unreasonable expectations for "success" -- because success is not really what it's about.

Toward Transformation

 

From a day or two ago:

Up early. The light is just breaking over the trees, and the street is glistening with recent rain. In my email is the daily message from Fr. Richard Rohr's Center for Action and Contemplation, which seems worth sharing:

I think that the great disappointment with so much political activism, even many of the non-violent movements of the 60s and 70s, and why many people were not long-lasting in these movements, is because these movements did not proceed from transformed people. They were coming from righteous ideology of either Left or Right, from mere intellect and will, and not from people who had put head, heart, body, and soul together.

We need to find inside ourselves the positive place of communion, of holiness, where there’s nothing to react against. Pure action is when you are acting from a place which is good, true, and beautiful. The energy at that point is entirely positive.

Fr. Richard Rohr

 

If we think of the difference between leaders such as Desmond Tutu, Gandhi, Thich Nhat Hahn, the Dalai Lama or Martin Luther King, and most of the elected politicians we've known over the years, even if they were saying all the "correct" things, it's pretty obvious. Part of the difficulty is that people with genuine moral authority are seen as a threat to power and order; often they don't last long when they enter the public sphere. Some (wisely, perhaps) refuse to involve themselves in politics, though it is very difficult for truly spiritual people not to speak out about the moral issues of their time, as Thomas Merton discovered.

Personally, after many decades of political involvement and activism, I became very disenchanted and disappointed with the American "left". I worked hard for change, and became exhausted; my exhaustion told me something was wrong. After moving to Quebec, I stepped back and have been gradually finding a new place, which proceeds both from an understanding of my new home, and a deeper integration of my own "head, heart, body and soul," leading toward greater internal groundedness -- an ongoing process of growth, rather than arrival.

While I'll always vote and express how I feel -- a more effective process in Quebec than in the U.S., I'm afraid -- I'm no longer convinced that working within the existing political structures is the best way to encourage and effect lasting change; in fact I've always been an advocate of small-scale change that comes from the grass-roots, led by individuals who live not from their egos but from deeply internalized values. I agree with Rohr: first we need to be transformed people, living lives based on what is good, true, and beautiful, rather than constantly reacting "against" seemingly immovable forces and trends: whether those are big, obvious forces like violent militarized societies, conservative mass media, and political parties that repeatedly fail to address economic, social, and environmental issues -- or vaguer, de-humanizing or unsettling trends like the impersonality and ephemerality of social networks, the atomization of individual existence in our mobile societies, the difficulty of holding together our families and communities, or the erosion and loss of former affirmative structures such as arts grants, traditional publishing, physical communities, our once-claimed identities as "young", "mother", "employee", or our membership in beleaguered organizations of all kinds.

I've learned one thing, for sure: you have to start with yourself and your own attitude. No matter how terrible our challenges are, when we react from a place of anger, we haven't done all the work we need to do, and ultimately we will only add to the amount of anger, violence, and frustration that already exist in the world. Positive energy attracts other positive energy, and a great deal can be built from there. One place to begin is by looking for and truly understanding what we already do have, the precious things that can never be taken away from us.

Let me just end with this quote from Terry Tempest Williams, via Sigrun at sub rosa:

Once upon a time, when women were birds,
there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn
and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy.
The birds still remember what we have forgotten,
that the world is meant to be celebrated. 

 

Vermont Summer Fields and Mountains

Summer Fields and Mountains, near Ascutney, Vermont. Pastel on paper, 26" x 16", (c) 2011.  (click for larger view)

This morning I was photographing this large pastel prior to listing it for sale. That process really makes you look closely, especially since I was including some detail shots.

But what it really did was take back to Vermont itself. I felt myself standing on the rise looking down into this valley; I felt the slight breeze on my skin that was also moving the cumulus clouds along, saw the first touches of color in the red maples on the slopes, saw the ripples on the river, heard a hawk crying overhead. And then I felt myself standing over the work itself, a year or so ago, trying to play back the emotional content of those original impressions as I worked on the pastel, making decisions, trying to keep the handling loose because there of the motion and energy I felt in the landscape.

There are an infinite number of ways to go about it; this is just one choice. We think we "see" a scene, but in a quite different way from a photograph, a painting or a drawing ends up being just as much about us.

And it occured to me that time of year depicted is only a few weeks from now. I've noticed that the cycle of plants and flowering has been accelerated this year by as much as two weeks -- a somewhat troubling phenomenon. I wonder if the leaves will turn earlier too. Whatever happens, those summer days are precious, and while I'm very happy living in Montreal, it's nice to be transported back to Vermont for a little while. All the places I've lived or visited have their special qualities -- just like people!

The Museum of Civilization

Here are a few more pictures from our trip to Ottawa. Actually, the Museum of Civilization is located in Gatineau, Quebec, across the river from Ottawa.

There are excellent bike paths and bridges to cross, so it's a good area to explore on bikes, and many people were doing just that.

The museum building, which is large and impressive,  is supposed to represent the land after the retreat of the glaciers - it also reminds me of snow drifts or rock sculpted by water. On our way in, we saw a sign offering reduced admission to the two museums located nearby: The Museum of Civilization, and the Canadian War Museum. "Well," J. remarked dryly, "that just about covers it." We didn't go to the War Museum, but apparently the current show is a good one: it's on the War of 1812, from four different perspectives (I'm not sure, but I'm guessing they are English Canada, French Canada, American, and Native American.) I'm quite sure it's a larger view than we were taught in American schools.

In the courtyard, there are sculptures of human beings by Louis Archambault, originally shown in Montreal at Expo 67. I was amused by a resident flock of Canada geese (how appropriate!) marching among them, but couldn't get a good picture of that.

Inside, we saw a 3-D IMAX film about the arctic; a good exhibition about the Mayans; another, quite intriguing and interactive, about religious diversity and belief; and a Diamond Jubilee tribute to the Queen, focused on her many trips to Canada. We walked briefly through the permanent exhibition about the native peoples of Canada -- it's very large and we need to go back to do it justice.

There was a friendly Mountie, sort of on guard.

But my favorite thing was the great hall which holds many totem poles from the Pacific Coast peoples. Seeing them here, of course, is a very different experience from seeing them in situ -- though many have been reclaimed by the rain forest. It helped to have read Emily Carr's journals earlier this year, and her accounts of visiting villages where she was given permission to draw the poles, and of the friends she made there.

I was stunned by their size and their powerful presence. I got very quiet, and just looked. They looked back.

 

 

Forest Primeval -- black-and-white prints!

I printed an edition in warm black ink on a lovely Japanese paper over the weekend and had a great time, even though it was hot and humid in the studio. I don't know why exactly, but I just love the hands-on aspect of making prints, even though it's messy and I invariably end up with oily black fingers and fingernails. Somehow it reminds me of my childhood delight in making things even more than painting does.

Here's the finished print; the actual size is 6 1/2 x 9 inches. The detail below is larger than life size.

Now I'm working on the two-color version, which is tricky to figure out. Here's a detail of my final sketch, using acrylic paint and a white opaque pen on a xeroxed copy of the print; it will be something along these lines.

Ottawa I

1. Parliament, from the hill behind the National Gallery of Canada.

2. Nothing special, just a Cassandra-esque picture, looking down at the street from the same spot

3. The tower of the National Gallery, seen from the back

4. Windows of the gallery cafeteria, after closing

5. Carved rocks, for Marja-Leena!

6. The rocks in situ, on the grounds of the National Gallery, Parliament behind

Keeping At It.

This is the finished block for the primary (darker) color. I'm going to print a small edtion in one color only, then work on the second block for the other color. It's cooler in the studio today -- what a relief! Makes it so much easier and more pleasant to work.

Right now I'm cleaning up from lunch and checking mail, which is another way of saying that I'm procrastinating a little about getting out the messy oil-based printing inks. But I'm always anxious to see what the print will actually look like, so once the process gets going I always find myself very concentrated. It seems like it's this way in all the arts: starting is difficult but once you get going, it's rewarding and completely absorbing, and even with the inevitable difficulties, steady incremental work does add up eventually.

--

In Ottawa this week we saw a remarkable exhibition called "Van Gogh - De Pres," or "Van Gogh Up Close." There were about 40 paintings, many of which I'd never seen before, in a show organized by the Canadian National Gallery and at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Along with the paintings -- still lives, flower paintings, and landscapes which explored compositions that include a nearby focus -- there were photographs, drawings, and Japanese woodblock prints of the type that VanGogh would have seen and collected, and used for inspiration and study.

Like all of these blockbuster exhibitions, this one was crowded and admission was by timed tickets. I felt like one of many sardines, but we walked ahead and then went back as the first rooms cleared out, and were able to spend some time fairly close to the paintings we most wanted to see. I felt exhilarated, moved, and also troubled by the profits that are made from this extraordinary, ill, incredibly gifted man's work and difficult life.

The painting above was the one that probably spoke to me the most, and this image doesn't begin to show how beautiful it really is (you can click for a larger version, but even so...the color simply isn't accurate and the depth doesn't come across.) In person, you see that it is an exploration of the complementary colors blue and orange, built up of many layers of carefully applied paint so that it has an internal glow. I was absolutely stunned.

I've read Van Gogh's letters, and a number of books about him. To be in the presence of so many of his paintings was even more emotional than I had expected; they are so full of quiet joy as well as the agitation that's been so emphasized. It's also personal for me, because Van Gogh often grappled with the same subjects that interest and bedevil me -- how to represent nature in its complexity, how to find the strong forms and a shorthand way of showing what we see. Most of all, it was so apparent, looking at the dates of the works, so compressed, that here was a man who showed up and worked almost every single day of his short life; th work kept him going, but so did nature itself. I left feeling humbled, inspired, and grateful.