Leap Year!

Unwinding at the day's end, I've poured myself a glass of Hennessy XO, a Christmas present from Rob in 2010, saved to celebrate promotions and savour special occasions.

It was a great night, spent among friends, the original Book Babes. Two books were on discussion:  Bride of New France and The Grief of Others.  I had chosen to read Bride of New France, but a TPL search showed the entire city library system was loaned out of the title and there were hundreds holds.  (Who knew a historical novel would be so popular?  I was going to buy the eBook, but it was way too expensive... more in fact, than soft and hard cover.  Plus the publisher (through Kobo) was not honouring discounts.  What's up with that?  Really, I would think it should be cheaper to buy an electronic book.  I digress.)

The clear favourite selection was The Grief of Others.   Those that had read each book felt that although Bride of New France was well researched and intriguing; it was more of a tale and not quite as authentic as The Grief of Others.  Despite the sad plot-line (divorce, death, estrangement), people described 'Grief' as "life-affirming", "true", and 'authentic'.  One reader cited its prologue as one of the best written passages they had ever encountered.

Confession time.  I hadn't read either title (gasp!).  But I had read several reviews and so was able to contribute to the conversation.  And now I know which of the two books I would prefer to read.

'The Grief of Others' is such an unappealing title, though.  I wonder if the editor/publisher tried to recommend something different to make it more appealing?  Was the author adamant it needed to stay?  Did the marketing department weigh in?  Given the choice between the two and life's recent events, anything with the word 'grief' was not compelling.  At least not in February.  So, lesson re-learned, although you can't judge books by their titles it certainly impacts their marketing (thinking of Book of Negroes among others).

On the way home from book club, I heard a great jazz tune called Leap Year, which led me to You Tube and other similarly named tunes.  Here is a bluesy, smokey, aptly titled riff, yours to enjoy:

William Kurelek

I've always associated this artist with childhood innocence and fun, the bright colours popping against the snow.  Images so vivid you can almost hear the laughter and shouts of  the children at play. When Rob and I visited the Hamilton Art Gallery yesterday to view a retrospective of Kurelek's work, we were introduced to a whole other expression of his talents.

Reminiscences of my Youth (1968)

Kurelek's biography shows he was a restless soul. He left the prairies, went to the Ontario College of Art, and then set off for England.  Alone and lonely, in 1954 he attempted suicide.  He was hospitalized,  underwent a series of shock treatments, and was encouraged to paint as therapy.  Along the way, this avowed atheist converted to Catholicism.  His faith helped him deal with his mental anguish, and he remained a devout Catholic until his death in 1977.

Anxiety seemed his constant companion.   He went through a period in the sixties where he seemed consumed by the threat of nuclear war.  One painting, called 'The Good Life" depicts a three-generation Ukrainian family inside their Prairie home,  enjoying all the modern day amenities but completely oblivious of the nuclear cloud in the distance. 

Artist's studio on Balsam Avenue Toronto

While living on Balsam Avenue in Toronto (just a few kilometers from where I live now), he started building a bomb shelter in his basement.  This dark, cramped space was where he painted many of his later works.

Viewing the paintings I was struck by their beautiful frames, and then discovered Kurelek had done much of this work himself.  He'd learned the trade while living in London and then worked at the Isaacs Gallery in Toronto from 1960-1970, earning his living framing fine works of art.


One of the paintings, Reminiscences of my Youth, pictured above, takes framing to a whole new level.  The bottom portion shows Kurelek as a young man in a dark room, despondent that the happy days of his childhood will never return.  In the gallery I was able to crouch down and read the handwritten note on his bedside table, mourning those days were "gone forever".  I wonder if that was his suicide note?

Having been introduced to a more serious and dark side of Kurelek, I appreciate his portraits of childhood and the light in his canvases even more than before.  The aurora borealis is a triumph of light over darkness.  Chasing fireflies in a night-time forest feels like an act of devotion and hope.

Maze (1953 - 1954)
this was painted as part of his therapy
it is a cross-section of his brain & skull

Glimmering tapers 'round the day's dead sanctities (1970)
somewhat depressing title
click image to expand - this is beautiful!
but this is also one of his handmade frames

Trees (circa 1970)
Chasing fireflies in this night-time forest feels like an act of devotion and hope

Year of Wonders

BPYC Book Club read and discussed Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks tonight.

This may not be the type of book you say you "liked" or "enjoyed" reading.  With one misfortune after another, many of us found ourselves wondering why it wasn't called "year of miseries".

I guess you'd have to expect the story of Black Death visiting a small countryside village in 1666 to be dark.  The prose was a bit purple in places and the dialogue was oddly stilted in others.  What made it a compulsive read was the plot - full of bizarre twists and side stories:  mines collapsing, witches burning, babies birthing, madness, torture, and 2/3 of the village dying off in less than a year. A bit of a soap opera, really.  However, much of it is based on recorded facts.

In this first novel you can see the talent that would go on to win the Pulitzer for her second novel, March.

**plot spoiler**
My favourite part was the twist, near the end, when things take an unexpected and bizarre turn.  It seemed the author was about to succumb to Harlequinn Romance with our heroine ending up in her lover's arms, living happily ever after.  Instead he turns out to harbour some deeply disturbing attitudes that cause Anna to abruptly break things off.  Run, girl, run!  The vicar's celibacy has turned him into a bit of a weirdo... or maybe his weirdness turned him to a life of celibacy.  Yikes!

Some felt the author stretched the truth a bit too far by sending Anna off on her journey to the Middle-East with a wet nurse,  living amongst Muslims, and picking up Arabic to the extent she was able to read scientific works well enough to inform her practice obstetrics.  Ah, yes, historical fiction.

Family Day

What better way to spend Family Day than with your family?

Rob, Alex and I set off gargoyle hunting with the book 'Faces on Places' as our field guide, starting with the Claridge apartments, built in the late 1920s.  The architecture is described as being built in a 'Venetian Gothic' style.

The angels that buttressed the exterior walls were graceful, but it was the interior lobby that was  absolutely stunning, with the ceiling embellished by none other than JEH MacDonald and his son Thoreau. The interior feels Spanish-American. 24 karat gold leaf was not used sparingly in the zodiac illustrations that glowed warmly on the ceiling.  Rob recalled some of the illustrations in books from his childhood, not realizing Thoreau was the offspring of one of the Group of Seven.


How could we not choose to eat our Family Day lunch at a place in Chinatown called Mother's Dumplings?  Alex vouched for the place, saying it was a favourite of his and Penny's. We waited in line a good twenty minutes for our table, watching the cooks in the open kitchen preparing the handmade dumplings. The wait only made lunch seem all the more delicious.

Toronto's founding fathers photo credit

After eating we popped into Gwartzmans across the street for some art supplies...  some brightly coloured baking clay for future rainy day fun.

City Hall gargoyle photo credit

Then off to see more grotesques, driving past City Hall and through the Financial District, looking high up into the buildings and trying to spot fantastic creatures as we passed.

We finished our daytrip at Cherry Beach, watching the shadows grow long in the late afternoon sun.

  

Albright-Knox Gallery

Rob wanted to check out the Albright-Knox gallery on Saturday.  More specifically, the Jackson Pollack masterpiece Convergence.  That piece alone was worth the drive.  I had no idea the depth and breadth of the collection - Picasso, Whistler, Kandinsky, Kahlo, Dali, Still, Rothco, Warhol, Renoir,  Pissaro....  We wandered through the spacious rooms at an unhurried pace, grabbed a wonderful lunch in the cafe and went back exploring.

What a  perfect day-trip for a grey day.

Although there were likely dark and depressing themes, they were easily overlooked.  As I made my way around it seemed the entire gallery was curated with a sense of optimism, humour and wonder. I found myself most drawn to the seemingly uncomplicated, most colourful pieces.    

A very memorable day, indeed:  the kinetic art and Op Art were entirely energizing; the Scribble Art Wall drawing was phenomenal;  the neon sign reading Only God Knows I'm Good was hung 50 feet high and seemed like a private joke between the artist and me.

A lot is resonating with me today, but I want to share these four landscapes in particular....

Each age in history presents challenges and sometimes it seems we are truly on the eve of destruction.  It seems easy to despair, it is 2012, after all.  But these artists all dream of bright and hopeful futures, of new ways of being and seeing, that are entirely rejuvenating.

I've long been a fan of Calder's mobiles and stabiles, some dance to the slightest breath.  This weekend I learned in his youth he worked on boats as he traveled his way along the coast, and when I saw this untitled painting it brought a smile - such a simple graphic depiction but to me it conjured the wind, the sun, the moon, waves, mountains and sunrise.

Calder left this untitled but to me it could be called "Who has seen the wind"

Light and movement in the dappled sunlight in a landscape from Southern France, the trees yearning up and toward the sky:

Matisse's fauvist landscapes

Joyful nostalgia in Chagall's dream landscape:

Chagall 

These warm, organic shapes placed against mechanical ones seemed optimistic, instead of the usual foreboding such juxtaposition usually brings to landscape.  

Delaunay - 1913