Keirartworks's Blog

hmmm. hmmm? Observations, actions and connection points through art.


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Value

What an intense beginning to October it has been.  It feels like I’ve been birth canal-ed – squeezed into a ‘passage through’ from that September of structural change (schedule, mental, energetic) into this October of ‘Now, GROW’.  This is the first morning of stillness after a massive storm of People and Events and I find myself looking around in wonder, like a newborn.

bridge on the way to my weekly class at Laurier

Bridge on the way to my weekly class at Laurier.  Like a birth canal, save that I come back through it every week at midnight.  Always an odd sensation.

I played back-to-back gigs in three completely different genres from Friday until Sunday at 2pm – the fallout from those rehearsals is over there…

Oh yes, and Friday was also my birthday. Why the roses...

Oh yes, and Friday was also my birthday. Why the roses…

I threw my old loveseat in a dumpster on Saturday too – the old pullout that didn’t pull out was my bed for the year after my marriage ended in 2013 and despite its’ size and brokenness, the ragged sides ravaged by cats and the seat pillows I never did finish reupholstering, I loved it dearly.  We pushed it over the edge and it opened one last time to say goodbye.  I whispered thank you for holding me before we drove away.  The tears that came then (and now, I’ll admit) are proof of my exhaustion.  Change.  Sigh.

Plaid. High back, which makes me feel short. Longer by two feet. hmmm.

Plaid. High back, which makes me feel short. Longer by two feet.

This new old couch has good pedigree (people very very dear to me have sat and slept here) and I have high hopes for it’s eventual ‘rightness’ in this space, though it still feels awkward. The studio cats have shunned it, so far.

I suspect it will grow in usefulness as I settle in to the habit of reading books, annotating books, blogging about books and commenting on the blogs of classmates.  This is how doing a Masters in Community Music translates into daily life. Ha – even as I write I know that’s not even the half of it.  This masters pervades all levels of now – how can it not, when books entitled Music and Mind in Daily Life (Clarke/Dibbin/Pitts, 2010) are on the week’s menu?  Every class from 7 until 10 pm) we talk about what is meaningful and authentic. How this changes when music becomes a commercialized product.  What does it feel like, to share musical space, to tell true musical stories that resonate and mix across personal and political cultures.  How music is so naturally inclusive, yet so easily distorted by projections of class, identity and politics.  How Music changes things, always.

Books like food. Masters is like eating and eating when you know you are already full. An exercise in stamina...

Books like food. Masters is like eating and eating when you know you are already full. An exercise in stamina…

I have not found ‘normal’ yet.  In the openness of this morning I look at my weeks and think, something has got to go.  There’s not enough room, currently, for the things I need to do, for the books I need to read.

And yet this is a stage in any valuable long-term project that I recognize, and relish – a good exercise in using emotional intelligence to understand what’s going to be supportive, gain me greater clarity, sharper focus.

And what is not.

chair_floor_studio

I’ve added things.  Cello lessons every other week (we are changing my right thumb position, working on my bowing, and fine-tuning my ears).  New cello students.  A string ensemble gathering every other week.  Learning lead vocals on two songs – one gaelic, one by Robbie Burns, for a mini-tour in Toronto in 2 weeks.  A drawing class for people who think they can’t in November, functional art making, and visual art making for a Studio Tour in December (this is how I will PAY for the masters – I have commissions and buyers, but so far no time to do the work).  Christmas mini-tour with my favourite musical collaborators.  Regular family visits.  Good, slow time with my dear and significant other.  Time spent listening and laughing with old and new friends.

It’s a lot, yes.  Doable if I practise smart self-care.  If I can find and work from a new lightness of being.

There is is.  I know what I need to let go of.  All the old heavy I carry that’s not mine.  Stories that are long over but still stuck in a run-on sentence.  Time to close those old books, and burn them.

Ah, that crazy beautiful bridge.

crazy beautiful bridge.


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in the grip

3:56am, sweatered on the couch with the green blanket tucked around my legs. I can’t see them, but I am aware physically and psychologically that I have good, warm slippers on my feet, and that they are a deep, warm pink.

In a moment I will pull the reliable stapler out of my purse, turn on the living room light, clear all available surfaces and begin the process of sorting through the year’s worth of collected paper that represent what I spent and what I earned.  I might also ask the furnace for more heat.

art history:  a painting I did in 1994, stripped of all but the figure.  Symbols added at an art opening in 2014 by people who signed up online and / or came to the event.  The third image is further work on the piece, which becomes more Chagall-like every time I go into it.  Everything about Chagall - his thinking and his work - have charmed me since I studied him at Uni 30 years ago.  The pieces needs to be re-stretched, and finished, but it is the first of many rich and random acts of art.  Who knows when that show will be - 20 years from now?  I'm looking forward to it.

art history: a painting I did in 1994, stripped of all but the figure. Symbols added at an art opening in 2014 by people who signed up online and / or came to the event. The third image is further work on the piece, which becomes more Chagall-like every time I go into it. Everything about Chagall – his thinking and his work – have charmed me since I studied him at uni 30 years ago. The piece needs to be re-stretched and finished, but it is the first of many rich and random acts of art. Who knows when that show will be – 20 years from now? I look forward to it.

How many truths can we hold I wonder.  These bits of paper represent a year of deep shifts – a  marriage ended; a career dusted off and re-worked; a daughter away for months on the other side of the planet then back home; a studio; a cat; a rented house; another Macbook Pro, brakes and tires on a red car; groceries, groceries… the long long, slow process of changing my mind about me in the world.

They’re still in grocery bags, the receipts, the invoices, the bills, because I resist this story, this truth.  I don’t want to look, don’t want to add the numbers, don’t want to know in concrete terms what I already know – it’s been a very tough year financially.  I look around me at the times we are all in, the 99% of us, as the old industrial-think global economy shows it’s fault-lines ever more clearly, and I know it’s been tough for so many.  This is not comforting, but it helps.  I don’t feel anything like a victim, but I do see that the idea of security that we were raised with is largely an illusion.  I believe we need to think differently now, about what we actually need, how we serve, and how we earn our keep.

my studio is on the top floor of this building - three windows north, three east.  This picture shows the building's transformation from the Pacific Hotel into the Circle Bar Hosiery Factory circa 1927  (black blob at the top is a tree close to the camera, not a fire).  My mother's grandfather, Walter Keebler, was the factory owner.  At one point he employed over 200 women there.

my studio is on the top floor of this building – three windows north, three east. This picture shows the building’s transformation from the Pacific Hotel into the Circle Bar Hosiery Factory circa 1927 (black blob at the top is a tree close to the camera, not a fire). My mother’s grandfather, Walter Keebler, was the industrialist who envisioned this change. At one point Circle Bar employed over 200 women.  It was still going strong into the late 1950s.

Clever me – I have succeeded in an hour’s worth of diversion – it is 4:49am, and the lights are still dim.  It is time now to make the second cup of coffee – the one that will fuel my industrious sorting project.

I need one more moment of listening though, before I rise to do this.

Into the stillness and perfect peace of early morning I am aware that someone I love dearly is far away and in pain.  The answer in me is quiet and deep; I don’t know how to connect with her, I feel helpless.  This is another truth to hold, another story to hear and navigate, then repeat.  There is great love here, and beauty, but also fathoms of old sorrow.  I would so love to be there with her, in this moment.

view from my studio window, winter 2014

view from my studio window, winter 2014

Alright.

Time to put the kettle on.


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Summerfolk Monday

The sense of openness continues long after Irene has gone to bed and been piped out of the park.  It’s as though the parade brought them home here through our house – Sarah Slean, Royal Wood, Oscar Lopez, the Lemon Bucket Orchestra, The Rwandan guys, The Powerful Women from New Zealand, The MacKenzie Blues Band (our dear friends), Matt Anderson, Nathan Rogers,  Karen Savoca, and so many others glimpsed, heard from afar or almost missed – along with all of the dear friends we were able to connect with.

The air is pregnant with resonance.  Into the air and the house I play Sarah Slean’s Land & Sea, which has me in tears from the first track.  Good tears – she is so playful, so powerful, honest and so Good at what she’s doing that laughter and tears just flow. This cd has such great depth and complexity and beauty that I choose it as one of my filters – one lens from which to view the world, in order to make the world better.   That doesn’t happen often at all.

A couple of tracks on YouTube are here, and here.  Enjoy.  Better yet, buy the cd – you’ll love it, I promise.

From Sarah I let my computer play on – five cello concertos (Barber, Schuman, Dvorak, Saint Saens, Shostakovitch) and the Casals Bach Suites took me upstairs and into a book on a couch in the sunlight, into the garden for fresh tomatoes, basil & chard, the kitchen for a sandwich, the clothesline for laundry, and the back deck to feed the cats.  Conversations, about Nathan’s incredible voice; about Oscar’s generosity of spirit;  about the marvelous revolution the Lemon Bucket Orchestra is building just by playing their impossible BIG whenever and wherever they can (they might possibly save us all, along with Sara and Oscar & the other incredibles we witnessed); about Matt Anderson’s huge HUGE skill as a performer being equal to his quiet humility, about getting deep into the dancers whenever possible…

Now the sun has set, the bugs are shut out, we’re inside in the peaceful resonant air, feeling very rich indeed.

Happy Monday everyone.