I want living people to buy work made by living artists because there is no moment like this, and together we tell the story of Now. What you pay for a piece is a measure of your love for human nature, for our collective insistence upon creativity, no matter what.
I know people as unstoppable and prolific as ragweed. I know mayflower people, bloodroot people, wild grape folk who can topple old tired structures with patience and determination. What if we blossom anyway amid the chaos, beautifully and defiantly, like plants do?
A solid eighteen inches of snow since Saturday afternoon in the GTA. All available vehicles, from snowblowers through skid steers and pickups with plough attatchments to massive snowploughs all in 24-hour play on the roads.
Trees are relational beings that are never solitary, always connected. The same is true of Humans. Thank you to everyone who toured the show, for your conversation and your sincere engagement. What a pleasure that was!
New perspectives too, washed clean by the emotional waves. I’m curious about the active differences between inheritance and legacy. Is it choice, I wonder. Also I wonder about the ideas we cling to as though they define us. They do not. Memory, like main stream media, is unreliable.
At this moment I’m barefoot in a wingback chair charting the movements of the mice in my ceiling and the family downstairs (a thump, now tears). Pre-solstice sunlight travels through the plants and across the floor.
One tree drops a walnut just a breath before my head would have been there. I pick it up – green, cracked open by the hard path – and wonder at measurements of time. Permanence, confinement, illusion, the cross-currents of loss and gain, the rhythm of my breath.
The broader, wiser me is an old sea captain. Patiently, she charts new shifts in internal weather systems, navigates unfamiliar waters.
The slap of water on leaves is distinct from the thunk onto porch roof, from the plop into backyard puddle. The shearing sound of tires on wet streets, a muffled steady thrum onto asphalt tiles above my head… rainfall is a language as broad as any other. David G Haskell inspires in me a new […]