forestière

first snow

2013-11-28T06:38:00.000-08:00

there is something so wonderfully heartwarming and yet also deeply melancholic about the quiet beauty of the first snowfall. the lure of pure white, blanketing the muted browns and already barren landscape as if giving permission to hibernate and rest. marking the change of seasons and yet also distilling that change into one silent and suspended moment. the lure of pure white when it is still magic, the air fresh and crisp and remarkably warm, before the drudgery of the northern season unapologetically sets in.

i wish i could have stood in that reverent moment, looking out at my favourite snow-covered spruce trees, just a little while longer....

intention(s)

2013-09-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

i started this week with intention(s)—i won’t call them good; i want only to say that i set out with intention, with purpose and plans and the mind to see them through, only to be impeded by falling ill with a common cold and the body aches, chills, and fatigue that came with it. sometimes life simply interrupts our plans and we have to accept it with grace, perhaps even interpreting the interruption as a sign that we need to slow down, take pause, or otherwise make a change in our lives; other times these interruptions become excuses that we attempt to use as reasons to justify our failures, faults, or nonperformances.

as i failed to meet some of my goals and deadlines this week, spending a lot of time resting in bed, i thought more deeply about what it means to live with intention—to live everyday with purpose and meaning, according to one’s own beliefs, values, and convictions, whatever they may be. i will refrain from saying living authentically, because i am not sure that i know what that really means or that i even believe in “authenticity” or an “authentic” mode of being, which has become something of a catchphrase in the blogging and other communities where it is embedded in discussions of transparency, uniqueness, and speaking from you heart and in your own voice in a way that is unique and unforced rather than unoriginal and contrived—a notion that i find highly problematic.

there is a discourse in my field of study (contemporary art history) around the impossibility of “presence” and authenticity in the visual arts that inhibits me from taking notions of “authenticity” or “authentic” meaning and expression seriously. i am not talking about the authenticity of a work of art in the sense of identifying its maker and provenance, but of the discourses of authenticity that develop around particular art movements and forms, of the notion of authenticity as a value possessed by a work of art as a result of the “authentic” expression of it its maker. while modernist art discourse is well known for having claimed this so-called authentic expression for modernist painting and sculpture, i am thinking more specifically of interrogations of claims for the authenticity and “presence” of live art, that a live art performance is somehow more truthful or “authentic” than its documentation. just like there is no “original” body outside of discourse, so too there is no “original” live art event that can somehow be retrieved or known, that we can refer to in order to confirm the true meaning of a performance work (i have to credit my supervisor, Amelia Jones, here, whose scholarship and thinking on contemporary art, performance, the body, and identity never fails to influence on my own thinking on these subjects).

my investedness in this kind of scholarship means that i necessarily separate living a life of intention from one of authenticity, however superficial such a separation may seem. simply put, i am suspect of notions of being “true to oneself,” of being “true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character” despite external influences and pressures, as if such a definition is self-evident or even possible given the cultural influences and media with which any notion or sense of self is necessarily entangled. the contemporary discourse of authenticity suggests that there is an authentic, true, unmediated, original self that we can somehow magically access without any external influence and share with the world, say through the pure, uncontrived and unfiltered form of social media. right. see why i’m skeptical? despite my skepticism, however, i do believe that we can choose to live with intention, to mindfully choose how we live each day—or at least, attempt to choose how we live each day and according to what values.

most of the time, i think i really do with with intention, purpose, and thoughtfulness, but then i have one of those days that seems to magnify my shortcomings and failures and seeming inabilities to “do” certain things, idly allowing time to pass or things to happen without taking full control—one of those days that makes me feel like i need to try to be a better human, where i take notice of all the good and beautiful things that i don’t deserve.

i am not sure where i am going with all of this, and i certainly do not have all the answers. but what i can do is try to be the best person i can be, with constant, conscious effort, and in ways both big and small. i can be honest with both myself and with others; i can be transparent about how i live and do things without making some grand claim for authenticity, the very notion of which necessarily and falsely implies a dichotomy between authentic and inauthentic living.

on change and rest and things to come

2013-08-28T15:02:00.000-07:00

"Rest and be thankful." - William Woodsworth

"Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop." - Ovid

while i've been absent from this space over the past two months, things have transitioned from a seeming state of upheaval to one of rest. without warning, andrew and i introduced some big and fast changes into our lives—although now that things have had time to settle, the changes don't feel so big. there have been so many things that i've wanted to share in the interim, so many images i've wanted to post, words i've wanted to write, and updates i've wanted to make, but i felt this strange responsibility to account for my absence and fully explain the changes before i could do so.

in one of those serendipitous sequence of events, where the decision almost seemed to make itself, we decided to leave Renfrew County and make our lives elsewhere, closer to the city but still outside of city limits. part of what precipitated this decision was our discovery of a hidden black mould problem in our country apartment, which had without a doubt been negatively affecting our health and mental states. but more than the immediacy of the mould problem, we also knew that we had to plan for the future, in advance and before it hit us hard. which meant andrew leaving the bush to take a new, better-paying (although still forestry-related) job that would allow me to focus on finishing my PhD while also having easier access to the city and its resources. and finally, we simply needed a larger, more appropriate and productive space, where i could more effectively work from home and where we weren't tripping over each other, the animals, and all of our stuff. we realized that we were expending far too much energy trying with everything we had to make things work, and it simply wasn't working. we needed more than anything to make a change, and so we did. but part of making that change also meant admitting a lot of hard truths to ourselves.

and so here we are, over a month later. we are still in limbo, living out of suitcases and boxes with our three animals in the attic of my in-laws' 180 year-old stone house overlooking the St. Lawrence River, as much as i am embarrassed to admit it. but i think it goes without saying that we've all been there in one way or another. you swallow your pride, take your alms with a thankful quietude, gather your resources and make your way. more than feeling ashamed, i am humbled and thankful that i have been allowed this rest. for the first time in all of our moving adventures, we have been able to take the time to find the right place to live, to steadily choose the place that we want to call home. and i think we found it—a charming two-storey apartment in an historic red brick house built in 1880 in Prescott, Ontario. like any place, it's not without its faults and quirks, but i think it is going to give us what we need. we don't move in until October, but for now the feeling of having found a place and having something tangible to look forward to is enough. the fruit of the decision we spontaneously made over two months ago awaits us, and once it is ours everything will have been worth it.

the first photo is a scene from my mother-in-law's effortless garden, which i am blessed to experience every day while we stay here, and the second is a view of the backyard at your new place. i love the installation of empty frames hanging from the arbour and even had a discussion with our new landlord about the institutional and discursive function of frames in art history—yes, i totally geeked out.

red skies

2013-06-26T12:02:00.000-07:00

after yesterday's torrential storm, the skies opened up. ablaze with the most incredible, unfiltered light.

fade into green

2013-05-24T09:56:00.000-07:00

Spring rain
conveyed under the trees
in drops.

Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)

Spring in the Valley has been wet and slow to unfold, full of a few unseasonably hot days followed by miserable, cold and damp rainy ones. but with the rainfall has come the most incredible lush green. everywhere. first with the spring flush, and then suddenly in full bloom, the fields and woods thick with green and wet with the heavy after scent of rain.

last weekend we explored a local old growth maple/beech/hemlock forest. as we walked in the rain, the entire forest was brimming with life and was saturated with stunning shades of green. we fished for hours in the nearby pond and it too was enveloped by moody greens, mixed with the sobering grey of the sky and water.

and then there is the early morning mist and the mud. Andrew spent the past few weeks tree planting, and this week was particularly miserable, muddy, and wet, exposing a rugged, harsh, and honest landscape that never fails to take my breath away.

handmade harvest

2013-05-10T13:12:00.003-07:00

this past weekend i participated in the Spring edition of Handmade Harvest at the Almonte Agricultural Hall in the lovely town of Almonte, not far outside of Ottawa. it was a perfectly rustic, historical venue and a well-curated show, featuring a wonderful range of artisans and crafters. i couldn't imagine a more supportive, down-to-earth environment for my first show. i had an amazing time meeting fellow vendors and handmade enthusiasts, catching up with old friends, and making new connections (and eating a few delectable treats!). i also want to extend a BIG thank you to Emily & Colleen, the wonderful ladies who put on the show—they have some mad organizational skills and are truly invested in what they do, which is a huge part of what made the day so successful. oh, and Almonte? i think i love you.

Andrew spent most of the day with Scout, our new Chesapeake Bay Retriever puppy, who we brought with us to the show. it was a beautiful, hot, summer-like day, so luckily the venue was on a gorgeous river where Scout could cool down in the water. it was his first time swimming in deep water—a proud moment that i sadly missed, but that Andrew candidly captured in a series of photos. they're so sweet i couldn't resist sharing. he's a little charmer, and expresses the spirit of the day perfectly.

next month, i will be selling my wares at Urban Craft in Ottawa, so if you're in or around the city you can look for me there. the lineup of vendors is nothing short of AMAZING—i am delighted to be included among them and look forward to the show!

pink moon

2013-04-26T21:00:00.001-07:00

late last night, after midnight, i happened upon a perfect view of the full pink moon. first through the budding branches of the trees, and then in the open sky, cloaked by an illuminated veil of clouds. i lost myself in its lyrical beauty for awhile, alone in the sweet fresh air of a quiet spring night.

spring equinox // double exposure

2013-03-20T19:06:00.002-07:00

today is the Spring Equinox, that fateful day filled with equal hours of light and darkness, where day and night are held in perfect balance. more than the "first day of spring," it is a moment of pause followed by what is perhaps the most cherished seasonal shift for those who live in the North; a promise that budding growth and long, sun-filled days will emerge from beneath the frozen landscape—even if not precisely on this seemingly arbitrary day. while it snowed most of the day here, the light seemed almost tireless, uplifting. for me, that's what today signals most: the coming of light, the reassurance that soon the light will outlast the darkness and we will be able to emerge from hibernation and shed our heavy layers. captivated by this promise, the feeling i had today was one of dissolving into nature, of dreamy double exposures, subtle florals, and soft, enchanting light.

photo sources: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

wearable porcelain: by loumi

2013-03-05T06:34:00.004-08:00

it’s been a long while since i’ve written a wearable porcelain post, since i’ve been inspired by an artist who works in that most favourite and long-cherished medium. so when i first stumbled upon the new Etsy shop, By Loumi, last month, my heart nearly skipped a beat. based in France, designer Kahina Loumi's work is naturally romantic, sweetly charming, and stunning in its simplicity—the kind that takes your breath away. the combination of unglazed white porcelain + matte gold that characterizes her current collection is quite possibly perfection. individually handcrafted in her studio, each piece incorporates her experience as a visual artist and is its own timeless work of art.

for a view into Kahina's studio and to read more about her work (en français), check out her featured shop interview on Etsy's french blog. you can also follow her design process and inspiration on her blog, Loumi Studio.

✚ all photos courtesy of By Loumi

taking time

2013-02-15T12:42:00.000-08:00

i have been somewhat of a ghost around here lately, i know. the transition into the new year was a difficult and emotional one for our little family as we endured a significant loss. time stopped for awhile. everything became quiet and still as we took the time that we needed and allowed ourselves to grieve, wrapped up in a world away from here.

i have also been hard at work on a number of projects, keeping them mostly to myself during this time of solitude and repose. but i am happy to announce that BIG changes are coming to this ever-evolving space as part of a larger re-branding project. i feel good about where it's headed; where i'm headed. it feels much more 'me.'

here is a little peek.

until it is time,

sara

p.s. Jane's thoughtful post came at the perfect time for me as i was wrestling with my own emotional terrain and when and how to return to this space in a way that felt right, that felt honest. hopefully you will find something in it, or take something out of it, too.

winter reflections + tidings

2012-12-21T09:21:00.000-08:00

since moving to a country environment, i have started to track the seasons in a way i never have before, even though growing up in the North i have always felt so intimately connected to, and affected by, their ebbs & flows. while i have always been detail-oriented, taking notice of the little things that often go overlooked, the past year has changed me. out here, away from the noise of the city, i have learned to slow down. to pause in the middle of the woods and simply listen, taking in my surroundings with every breath and sense in my body; to take a break from my research and writing and wander outside simply to stand in the middle of a snowfall, feeling the cold, soft flakes on the skin of my face as i look up—and not only once in awhile, but regularly, at every opportunity. slowing down and taking pause is something i deeply respect about winter, even in its turbulence when it snows us in, stranding or preventing us form going anywhere. it is a season capable of teaching us how to take small steps towards a slower, more thoughtful and meaningful life.

since the first snow last month, winter has started and stopped countless times, moving from cold temperatures back to warm ones before plunging once again into deep cold; from light snow barely dusting the ground to heavy snowfalls, rain, freezing rain, hail, and still more snow, creating sheets of ice and hardening the earth—what have become the frenzied characteristics of a bipolar Canadian winter. but in whatever form, winter is here (to stay) and i welcome it. just this morning we woke up to a fresh blanket of snow, renewing the winter landscape and prompting me to go outside and, as contrived as it might sound, take in the fresh beauty. to take a wonderful little moment to myself.

while i know i will grow tired of the cold in the coming months, the magic has only just begun, making me feel like i am experiencing winter again for the first time. the startling, frigid beauty contained in the smallest of details: a delicate snowflake, soft snow adorning the branches of pine and spruce, a frozen bud or needle closed in on itself, frosted treetops, an icicle frozen in time like a distant memory, jack frost quivering on windowpanes, frost-covered eyelashes and beards, gently falling snow that seems to hang, unmoving in the air; the way that snow changes the light, producing a field of colours and the most amazing range of whites and greys in what at first seems to be a barren, colourless landscape.

and so maybe my photos are overdone or seem a little tiresome, but they celebrate something simple and yet monumental, something dear to those who live here: a still & quiet beauty, a wonder contained deep within the winter landscape, but that also shimmers so visibly across its surface as it reaches out with open arms. there is a strange comfort in winter, as if it wraps us up and gives us permission to slow down, even if only for a short while.

for those of you dreaming of a white Christmas, i suppose this glimpse into a winter wonderland is my humble gift to you. a gift of beauty & wonder as we nestle in to celebrate the holiday season with the ones we love. as we try to slow down.

i also want to take a moment to thank you for visiting my blog this past year, for sticking around and engaging with its original content as i have worked hard to construct something thoughtful and meaningful. i have been reflecting a lot on blogging and my relationship to it lately, on what i want this space to look like and where i fit into an evolving blogging culture.

to that end, i want to leave you with a few wonderful and evocative posts from writers whom I admire and respect on blogging meaningful. on producing more carefully curated and thoughtful posts that celebrate process and writing, and on building small, meaningful relationships based on respect and a willingness to accept constructive criticism:

✚ Erin of Design For Mankind's post on "slow blogging," with an emphasis on research, thoughtfulness, storytelling, and writing, on crafting a culture of blogging based on less rather than more. i am happy to see a commitment to this approach from a prominent blogger.

✚ Jane's thoughtful reflections on how we support each other in the blogworld, in which she criticizes the notion of "automatic support" and outlines the consequences of giving our support uncritically and too readily, proposing a new model of support that aims to be more meaningful.

✚ Hila's "Lesson's Learnt," a reflection on her experience of blogging in which she challenges the notion of an all-encompassing blogging community and revisits her thoughts about how little writing is valued in the indie blogging community since she wrote this landmark post together with Jane earlier this year.

wishing you love & warmth, and tidings of comfort & joy.

xo,

sara

all photos are my own, taken with iPhone 4 and edited primarily with VSCO Cam.

fresh (paper) flowers

2012-12-14T10:10:00.000-08:00

with the fast & dirty arrival of winter, i find myself longing for the sultry days, greenery, and florals of summer. while winter, too, is beautiful, and i have been enjoying the transformation of the local landscape into a winter wonderland, i am not fully prepared for the impending deep freeze and long winter months.

so when i happened upon these clever fresh (paper) flowers from design studio Itunube, i couldn't imagine a more delightful way of passing the Canadian winter. a collection of 32 flowers printed on newsprint, Fresh Flowers was designed by Sandra Bautista not only as a format to catalogue a series of photographed flowers, but also as a way of having a display of flowers on your table everyday, with a different flower for each day of the month. you simply choose one of the flowers, place it as the cover, make a roll with all the pages together, and display it in a vase. brilliant, right?

there is also something wonderfully practical about displaying paper flowers in a vase. not only do they not require water and will not wilt (although i think wilting and decay are part of the beauty of real flowers), but they are also safe for our feline friends. i've been reluctant to bring fresh flowers into the house ever since our cat, Hunter, was poisoned from eating lilies last year and lost one of his nine lives (although he was deathly sick, thankfully he pulled through and recovered!). if you have a cat like ours who will eat any fresh or leafy green thing, bringing fresh flowers into your home can unknowingly put them at risk if they turn out to be toxic. short of finding the perfect non-poisonous flower, perhaps Fresh Flowers is a good solution?

the newsprint book would also make a lovely gift and is much easier to send by post than natural flowers. it would certainly brighten my day!

all photos courtesy of Itunube.

a poem for the night

2012-12-12T15:31:00.000-08:00

it’s been snowing steadily all day. and all day, as i looked out from where i sit at my writing desk, i have been waiting with the best composure i could summon to share this poem. i discovered it through an excerpt beautifully illustrated by Éireann Lorsung, writer, poet, and designer/creative director/editor of MIEL books (who also has a doctorate in Critical Theory!). as darkness falls, a crisp quietude unfolding across the land and pressing up against the windows, i am poised, now, to welcome the night with this wonderfully solemn and deeply felt poem by Wayne Dodd:

Of Rain and Air

All day I have been closed up
inside rooms, speaking of trivial
matters. Now at last I have come out
into the night, myself a center

of darkness.
Beneath the clouds the low sky glows
with scattered lights. I can hardly think
this is happening. Here in this bright absence

of day, I feel myself opening out
with contentment.
All around me the soft rain is whispering
of thousands of feet of air

invisible above us.

from Sometimes Music Rises (Georgetown Press, 1986).

photos are my own.

seven years

2012-12-07T12:12:00.000-08:00

andrew and i celebrated our seven-year anniversary yesterday! it was the day of our first date seven years ago, and we have been inseparable ever since. now that we are (newly) married, i wondered if our new anniversary date would replace our old one, if our wedding date would somehow take precedence as our "official" anniversary. but that original date holds too much magic and significance in our lives that we decided to keep both, giving us two anniversaries to celebrate. that means at least two romantic dinner dates and two special bottles of wine to share, just the two of us, every year (we have a reservation at our favourite local fine dining restaurant tomorrow night for a quaint five course dinner—our first in a long time). i hope that we maintain the tradition even as we have children and grow old together, our lives getting even busier before slowing down to a time when it will be just us again. andrew + sara and all the years made of love, of all the little things that fill us.

i had been saving a bottle of Domaine du Clos de la Procure Côtes de Provence 2010 that i bought in Montreal for a special occasion, to enjoy with my love when were together again (we were living apart at the time, andrew in the country and me in the city). last night finally seemed like that perfect occasion. the wine—a wonderful blend of Grenache, Mourvèdre, Carignan, Cinsault, and a hint of Syrah—was exquisitely woody, with a light spice and subtle floral undertones. and it had the most beautiful label and cork imprinted with the silhouette of a moose. if there ever was a wine to celebrate our love, this was it.

the photo of the two of us is an old one, and one of my favourites. it was taken by photographer Johann Kwan at my graduation from The College of the Humanities in 2007, capturing our spirits at the time perfectly. Johann has always had a way of doing that and his original photography is truly gorgeous (i should note that the quality of the digital copy i have is not very good, and i both cropped and added a filter to the photo). you should really have a look at some of his more recent photo work.

so here is to celebrating long and lasting love. here is to you, my sweet & rugged andrew. and here is to all the romantics; thank you for indulging me.

wishing you a wonderful weekend, full of... love.

deux choses

2012-12-03T03:53:00.000-08:00

1. "Hi-Lo" Hudson Bay Axe by Best Made Company.
2. White Axe + Wood, a collaboration between porcelain artist Aleksandra Pollner and woodworker Emmett Smith. available at Object.

a few good things no. 6

2012-11-30T17:43:00.000-08:00

i cannot believe today is the last day of November. where has the time gone? where have the days gone? i feel like i should be suffering a panic attack because i have SO MUCH WORK TO DO. instead, or perhaps as a way to calm myself, i put together a few good things that i have been coveting and collecting over the past month or so. YES, some of these goods might be on my holiday wish list (it's called a "wish list" for a reason), and there are a very select few to which i might have already treated myself or in which i plan to invest. but for the most part, sometimes it is enough simply to appreciate good craftsmanship, commitment to quality, attention to detail, and reverence for simple & honest beauty—values that i try to uphold as i encounter and sift through what often seems like an unending barrage of objects and ideas in my daily life.

1. this ancient floral leather pouch from ANN-YA captured my heart the first time i laid eyes on it. i am wooed by the warm, golden leather suede and feminine rose print, combined ANN-YA's no-fuss style. so exquisite. i have also been a wee obsessed with the combination of golden honey/amber brown and black lately. is it that obvious?

2. gorgeous oxfords handmade from vintage Moroccan rugs & leather by TEN & Co. (via Miss Moss).

3. madeline dress by Dear Creatures at Summerland. that rich golden brown colour pairs just as perfectly with cream as it does with black.

4. i've been crushing on this Falconwright golden brown leather clutch printed with a white claw pattern, which has magically disappeared from their online shop as i am preparing this post (guess it's sold out, and with good reason!). Toronto ladies Sandi Falconer & Danielle Wright have something good going on.

5. i am a lush for silk. 100% pure silk. i am also in love with the new MILL MERCANTILE shop and its appropriation of "the same quality, craftsmanship, and authentictiy that's usually reserved for the world of menswear" for women. YES. this pleated colour block blouse in copper & black by Billy Reid is only one of the shop's many treasures.

6. i have a strange and particular affinity for rock (well, maybe not-so strange given that i grew up in a heavily rocked mining community) and this art print by RK DESIGN captures it perfectly.

7. there can only be one case for my new MacBook Pro Retina, and i've decided that this wool and leather heritage laptop folio by London-based hard graft is it. i have to protect my investment with something good and beautiful, right? saving my pennies, or sterlings.

8. wool Susan cardigan made in Scotland by Howlin by Morrison. another beauty from MILL MERCANTILE.

9. L.L. Bean's classic 100th anniversary Maine hunting shoe. the way to a town & country woman's heart.

10. baby soft merino wool Annie cowl neck sweater in chestnut from TOAST.

11. i have long been searching for an affordable weekend bag for those occasional, but sometimes frequent, trips. could this weekender from Everlane, a shop with a new online-only retail model, be the one?

12. i recently happened upon the gorgeous Hudson Made New York. i am in awe over this flame-blackened is beautiful set, featuring a large Hudson Made black walnut cutting board and a collection of handcrafted, flame-blackened cherry wood cooking & serving utensils by Jonathan's Spoons. i love the aesthetic and feel of a masculine, dark wood-themed kitchen. my husband is an incredible (and ex-professional cook), after all. i follow his lead and try to indulge his indulgences.

13. i can't wait to get my hands on this book by Bryan Nash Gill, Woodcut. there's someone special on my list whom i think might appreciate it....

14. beltane necklace by Species By The Thousands. perfectly bewitching.

15. these understated little bronze CLUSTRUM earrings are my favourite from Stone & Honey's latest collection, ARCOS. i think they've been overshadowed by some of the other works in the collection and deserve more attention.

16. there is something incredibly sexy about unisex accessories, like this wool fringed scarf in banded black from the 2012 Pendleton Portland Collection. available here (CAN), here (US), and here.

17. stunning bronze antler and crystal necklace designed by Hannah Ferrara of Another Feather exclusively for CISTHENE.

18. i have heard nothing but good and wonderful things about Belmondo's THE CLOUD face cream, organic skincare made in small batches in British Columbia, Canada, so i finally decided to go ahead and try it. i recently ordered a jar and am delightfully awaiting its arrival.

19. Hudson Bay millenium bay point blanket, a Canadian icon, at Vancouver's Old Faithful Shop. we have a vintage one in green and it is one of my most cherished possessions. it keeps us warm through just about anything and will forever remain an heirloom in our family.

shop sale + news!

2012-11-22T09:19:00.001-08:00

✚ enjoy 20% OFF everything in the shop from Friday, November 23 through to Monday, November 26 with coupon code: LITTLEBLACK.

✚ nova lily is undergoing some exciting re-branding, including a name change and new designs, and will be moving to a new home in the new year, so this will most likely be the last sale in the Etsy shop before then.

✚ also, please note the following deadlines based on destination to receive gifts in time for the holidays:

within Canada: December 15

United States: December 8

everywhere else: November 27

✚ happy weekend!

deux choses

2012-11-21T10:49:00.000-08:00

1. Fly Away, a visually arresting photograph by Brigitte Niedermair.

2. Fortnight Lingerie's oh-so gorgeous Jolene long line and high waist knickers from their 2012 collection, forever a classic. available here (CANADA + on sale!), here (US + also available in limited edition rose/ivory + first look into Fortnight's much anticipated 2013 collection, Asteria), and here (US + on sale).

personal confession: no one can compete with Jolene. she is my most cherished bra & knickers set in my lingerie drawer.

these days

2012-11-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

these days, it's been getting cold, prompting us to pull down the wool blankets and exchange the cotton sheets for flannel. ever since our mattress warranty claim was settled and we got the brand new oh-so luxurious replacement mattress, we've been spending A LOT of time in bed. we climb in early at night, where we finish our days out together, and i stay in bed as long as possible in the morning after andrew leaves for work, drinking coffee and starting work from beneath the layers of blankets as i snuggle with the animals. i swear that they conspire to keep me there.

these days, i've been doing my work from the dining room table (when i'm not in bed, that is). it's a large, unfinished pine wood space overlooking the kitchen and beside the sliding balcony doors that look out onto the backyard. i draw the curtains to let the light in and i draw them to shut out the dark. the heavy cotton floral curtains given to us from my wonderful mother-in-law. they are like an embodiment of her: traditional with a modern flair, rustic, whimsy, beautiful, spirited. being in their company makes me feel loved, safe, and ever-inspired.

these days, i have been focusing almost single-mindedly on my dissertation project (almost, because there are of course endless distractions that keep me from absolute devotion to my work and thus from full productivity). i find my mind wandering, dreaming, and thinking about all the things.

These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

(Nico, "These Days")

i spread my projects and desires across the surface of the wood table from which i work, but even as i actively so so - all day, every day, day in & day out - there are always things i never get to. i drink cups of lady grey tea and stage still lives. i play with the cats and take their portraits. i collect books for research and books for pleasure, for moments of rapture and escape, for moments often overlooked or forgotten. i am distracted by my surroundings; in a room of my own.

these days, i muse about having a real digital SLR camera, but for now i make do with my old Nikon point-and-shoot, my iPhone, and the brilliant editing software designed by Visual Supply Co.

portraits of the majestic, stoic, and ever-handsome, Dr. Hunter S. Thomcat. he's been a little displeased that Glasgow has been stealing all the attention here lately. he's also developed some slight attitude problems adjusting to the new kitten (jealous? inconceivable!), so i thought i would give him a prominent spot here. he has been such a central part of our lives over the past six years, he really does deserve it.

the joys of adopting a young kitten: they're ever-so sweet but also full of SO MUCH TROUBLE. introducing, for the first time, Little Miss Virginia Woolf. she's slowly finding her place in the family and even gets to participate in group snuggles in the morning now.

this week i posted about the early morning and my new relationship to it. as difficult as it can be to get out of bed some mornings, the beauty that awaits is always worth it. yesterday morning's frost was truly exquisite, making the whole yard glow with a white frosted mist warmed by the golden sun.

still lives:

1. andrew has been bringing home lots of moose antler sheds from the bush lately, adding to our ever-growing collection. this particular white-tailed deer skull and antlers is one that we brought back from Alberta two years ago. it has been hanging around the past couple weeks waiting for us to hang it on the wall, but i have been enjoying its company.

2. sweet little Herriott Grace cake flags leftover from our wedding + a gorgeous knitted short-sleeve shirt, made in Canada, that i recently thrifted.

3. lady grey tea in one of my favourite vintage teacups and an old teapot from my Nana. perfection.

collected works:

1. good night, day: modern & minimalist knitting patterns, by tara-lynn morrison. first edition.
2. A Pictorial History of Wilderness, poems by Laressa Dickey & published by MIEL.
3. Penguin Books "Great Ideas" edition of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own.
4. The Anatomy of Clay, poems by Gillian Sze.
5. issue no.1 of Sad Girls, a lovely little illustrated zine made by girls who make things and have lots of feelings.
6. A Guide to the Northwest Territory, poems by Josh Wallaert, also from MIEL.

collected works no.2 (on hysteria):

1. Aura Hysterica: Les exercises de la passion (1992), an artist's book by Montreal artist Nicole Jolicoeur.
2. Georges Didi-Huberman's The Invention of Hysteria: Charcot and the Photographic Iconography of the Salpêtrière.
3. The Hysterical Alphabet, text by Terri Kapsalis with drawings by Gina Litherland.
4. Nicole Jolicoeur's Traité de la perfection (1996).

early morning

2012-11-12T05:37:00.002-08:00

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

excerpt from ELIZABETH BISHOP, "Five Flights Up"

my mornings lately have been early. too early, perhaps. but i am learning how to appreciate what often seems like an ungodly hour; the quiet, the still, the haunting, the earthly. i am trading in my night owl for the early bird.

transitions

2012-11-09T14:13:00.001-08:00

while i savour the sultry heat, sun-filled days and long nights of summer, autumn is my favourite season. it is a season of transitions, preparations, harvests, layers, and pigments; of life, death, and decay. having lived in the city for nine years before moving to the country full-time this past June, i always found that autumn would come and go so quickly, almost without notice, at least not of all its nuances. trees are not in their natural habitat in the city and almost all urban trees are diseased, so i never got to experience the full splendour of fall's colours and subtle changes. this year, however, i was able to intimately track those changes over the course of five or six weeks every time i took glasgow for a walk in a nearby forested area we call "the cross," from first fall to first frost, from the only barely emerging yellows and oranges to the fiery and crimson reds at their peak, and finally to the fading of those colours into rusts, ochres, and browns. i watched the dark earth and lush greens of the forest floor first become peppered with sparsely fallen leaves, and then fully blanketed by a thick layer of still fresh scarlet maple leaves, which slowly faded into various shades of brown as they dried and decayed, becoming skeletons of their former full-bodied selves. only a handful of golden birch and poplar leaves remained, clinging to their branches, the limbs of oaks and maples reaching up toward the hallow sky like arteries. finally, early this week, the overnight's frost crystallized into tiny, intricate freckles of snow hugging patches of leaves, moss, rotting wood, and the ground around the bases of trees, starkly beautiful at the same time as they were a faint promise of what is to come.

All photos taken from 01 October - 06 November 2012

not-so pretty & pink

2012-10-26T15:09:00.000-07:00

I have been wanting to write this post for a long time. I have written, re-written, and deleted drafts, trying to figure out how to make my academic work more accessible, how to to write about a widespread cultural issue for a non-academic, general readership. I decided some time ago to include more content on this blog as an extension of my research interests as an art historian, rather than to simply use it as a creative outlet and distraction from my academic work, as if I live two separate and unrelated lives. But as much as I might self-identify with a simple, honest life outside of academia, I don’t live two lives. My knowledge of the history of art and extensive training in how to look and think visually affects so much of what I do and am deeply passionate about. It’s time that I acknowledge and embrace the unique perspective that comes with my background in humanities and the arts, and allow it a proper place on this blog among my other interests and creative pursuits.

Given that the visual and cultural representation of cancer is a topic in which I am deeply invested and have already written extensively about, I thought that publishing a post on unruly, un-idealized representations of cancer during Breast Cancer Awareness Month might be the most appropriate way to introduce the kind of things I research and write about. I have been waiting for October to do so, and October is finally here, with breast cancer “awareness” and pink-themed marketing and fundraising campaigns in full swing. Even more fitting, a community of bloggers and writers whom I highly respect has called Etsy out for being grossly and unethically misleading in their recent email newsletter, “Tickled Pink,” which featured a curated collection of pretty, handmade “pink” goods in celebration of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The email encouraged readers to “show your love to the women in your life” with a range of pink-coloured wares, most of which do little to actually raise awareness or contribute to cancer organizations and research.

Acacia, Hila, and Jane have already written beautifully and poignantly about pinkwashing and Etsy’s unethical exploitation of an often devastating disease, as well as the company’s lack of a sincere or adequate response to its community, while Bethany started this controversial thread on an Etsy team, which was subsequently shut down by an admin, only to prompt another member of the Etsy community to start a second one. So I wanted to add my voice to what I see as a wider cultural issue in a slightly different way, addressing the visual representation of cancer and the failure of pink ribbons and other pretty pastel trinkets to adequately represent the disease.

............

I want to acknowledge from the outset that I am focusing here primarily on images of breast cancer not because they are the only contested sites of representation, but because it is arguably the most visible form of the disease in contemporary mainstream cancer culture, in which its high incident rate among Western women and the cultural specificity of breasts have produced a powerful rhetoric of visibility that has not yet fully emerged in the case of other sex- or organ-specific cancers. Despite increasing efforts, we don’t see nearly enough media representations or symbolic referents of ovaries, hearts, lungs, or prostates. Breasts (round, perky, firm, and perfectly shaped rather than imperfect, scarred, or missing as a result of mastectomy) still take centre stage in the popular drama of cancer.

Campaigns like Save the Ta-tas and the Keep A Breast Foundation’s signature I Love Boobies hyperfocus on breasts, reinforcing the normative cultural construction of breasts as the ultimate visual mark of femininity and women as desirable objects. Even those that claim to “think differently” about breast cancer and pioneer a new breast cancer movement, like the Canadian breast cancer organization Rethink, inevitably fall back into the mainstream culture and fail to forge new images. While provocative, Rethink’s controversial 2009 video campaign, Save the Boobs, overtly sexualizes the disease and does nothing to communicate its realities or the risks that women face. The message is to save the “boobs” or the “ta-tas” rather than the women whom breast (and other forms of) cancer aggressively kills.

So, about cancer’s visibility. When I say “visible,” I mean so in the most tenuous of terms. While cancer has achieved wide visibility in contemporary culture, it is through strenuously upbeat, sexualized fundraising campaigns and popular imagery such as the ubiquitous pink breast cancer ribbon, producing what Barbara Ehrenreich has playfully termed “the cult of pink kitsch.” Although they provide comfortable ways for the public to visualize cancer and show support for cancer patients and research, these symbolic artifacts act as visual referents for the disease without actually imaging in, displacing its unsettling images and material realities.

Jo Spence and Tim Sheard, Exiled, 1989. From Narratives of Dis-ease (1989).

In contemporary medical discourse and media cultures, cancer is marked by a cultural imperative to conceal the material signs of the disease and its treatment according to Western standards of appropriate bodily display. In the 1980s, feminist writer and activist Audre Lorde famously criticized the cultural construction of breast cancer as a cosmetic problem that could be solved by “prosthetic pretense,” rejecting what she called a “cosmetic sham” propagated by organizations like the American Cancer Society’s Reach to Recovery program. Cultural critic Susan Sontag similarly noted the strenuous “conventions of concealment” in Illness as Metaphor (1978), observing “all this lying to and by cancer patients... because [the disease] is felt to be obscene—in the original meaning of the word: ill-omened, abominable, repugnant to the senses.” Since these landmark politicized criticisms, non-biomedical makeover or “image” programs like the widely popular Look Good...Feel Better program continue to promote beauty aids as prosthetic means of recovery from the disfiguring effects of cancer, advocating mainstream conceptions of beauty, gender, and illness.

As a result, the conventional image of cancer is one that conceals all signs of the disease, cosmetically transforming the often destabilizing experiences of diagnosis, treatment, and recovery into something pretty and pink. Even when “alternative” images that reveal scars, hair loss, and other obvious signs of medical intervention for cancer do enter the public sphere, they are almost always of “survivors,” of triumphant bodies that have “defeated” cancer, won their “battle,” and reclaimed health, reinforcing conventions of beauty and popular metaphors of cancer as a battleground. Beneath the dominant representations of cancer and the almost excessive public images celebrating survivorship, however, there are a number of artists, photographers, and activists who have worked tirelessly to challenge dominant representations and make visible embodied experiences of the disease.

In her 1989 photograph, Exiled, with which I opened this post, British photographer Jo Spence exposes her torso with the word “monster” inscribed across her scarred chest. Having undergone a lumpectomy to remove the cancer from her breast, she no longer fits into the normative categories of ideal female or healthy bodies, but must negotiate her identity as a newly disfigured or “monstrous” body in a culture that stigmatizes and constructs her as “other.” Diagnosed with breast cancer in 1982, Spence furiously resolved to "document the procedure of being 'processed' through the hands of the medical profession" in a series of self-portrait photographs, employing the camera as a tool for empowerment. Engaging the cultural and political practices that effect the representation of illness, she performed her naked, ravaged, and diseased body to expose the ways in which medical knowledge and cultural consumptions are visually constructed about her body. “This isn’t just an artwork,” Spence declared about her work, “this is an actual body that someone inhabits.” And actual bodies, as she effectively demonstrates, are not always easy or comfortable to look at.

Jo Spence, Untitled (Mammogram), 1982. From The Picture of Health? (1982-86)

Left: Jo Spence and Rosy Martin, Infantilization, 1984. From The Picture of Health? (1982-86)
Right: Jo Spence and Terry Dennett, The Body is the Hero, 1989.

Left: Jo Spence and Terry Dennett, The Property of Jo Spence, 1982. From The Picture of Health? (1982-86)
Right: Jo Spence and Terry Dennett, Crash Helmet Portrait, 1983. From The Cancer Project.

Jo Spence and Terry Dennett, 15th October, 1984, 1984. From The Cancer Project.

Left: Jo Spence and Tim Sheard, Exiled, 1989. From Narratives of Dis-ease (1989).

Right: Jo Spence and Tim Sheard, Booby Prize, 1989. From Narratives of Dis-ease (1989).

Like Spence, American artist Hannah Wilke unapologetically and critically represents the sick, unruly, dying body afflicted with cancer. In her photographic diptych, Portrait of the Artist with Her Mother, Selma Butter (1978-81) from her So Help Me Hannah series, she portrays her then “healthy” body alongside her mother’s cancerous body. On the left, lying naked from the waist up, Wilke symbolically wears her mother’s wounds as small metal objects (a toy gun, fragments of tools) across the surface of her “pristine” youthful flesh, her characteristic long, dark hair sprawled out on the floor beneath her. On the right lies the artist’s mother, Selma Butter, whose disease-ridden body is disfigured by mastectomy and recurring cancer growths pitted against her sagging flesh. Her face is downcast in pain and exhaustion, her bald head modestly covered by a thick, dark post-chemotherapy wig. Wilke mimics her mother’s wounds in an attempt to internalize or share them and alleviate some of her pain, while also calling into question normative standards of appropriate bodily display and constructions of femininity.

Hannah Wilke, Portrait of the Artist with Her Mother, Selma Butter. From the So Help me Hannah Series (1978-81).

When she was diagnosed with lymphoma in 1987, Wilke turned the camera towards her own cancerous body, photographing it in excruciating detail as she continued to negotiate the trauma of illness and expectations of the diseased female body in representation. In Intra-Venus (1992-93), her final project before her death from lymphoma in 1993, she charts the effects of cancer and its medical treatment on her body in a series of large-scale “performalist” self-portrait photographs taken over an eight-month period with her partner Donald Goddard. Challenging viewer expectations and conventional representations of the female nude, she bravely exposes her ravaged, diseased, and medicalized body—naked, discoloured, bloated, bruised, bloody, and bald—as openly and obsessively as she displayed her young, healthy, and “too beautiful” body in her performative works from the 1970s.

Throughout Intra-Venus—a title that refers both to the medical term intravenous and to the goddess Venus, the quintessential sexual object of art historical paintings—Wilke insistently deploys her well-developed strategy of the pose, appropriating traditional female archetypes and high art nudes that range from the Venus and Madonna to the contemporary cover girl. But in place of a lively face, youthful flesh, smooth contours, and long flowing hair that these traditional poses falsely promise, Wilke’s face is sagging with exhaustion, her flesh is discoloured and scarred with marks of medical intrusions, her slim body is swollen and bloated from cancer therapies, and her luxurious, long hair is either thinning or completely gone. This effect of chemotherapy on her body is brilliantly and viscerally conveyed in Brushstrokes, a series of unconventional "paintings" composed of the artist's hair as it fell our during chemotherapy, which she collected and displayed on sheets of Arches watercolour paper. I can still recall encountering these works for the first time, my body sick with the memory of having lost my own hair as a result of chemotherapy treatment over ten years ago. It is the power of photographic works such as Wilke's and Spence's to evoke such visceral responses that keeps me returning to them, unable to look away as I am confronted by their unsettling bodies and arrested by the unforgiving gazes with which they directly address their viewers.

Hannah Wilke, Intra-Venus Series No. 6, February 19, 1992, 1992.

Hannah Wilke, Brushstrokes, January 19, 1992, 1992.

Hannah Wilke, Intra-Venus Series No.4, July 26, 1992 and No.10, June 22, 1992, 1992.

Hannah Wilke, Intra-Venus Series No.7, August 18, 1992, 1992.

Spence and Wilke were among the first contemporary artists to visually represent their own diseased bodies and cancer experiences in attempt to counteract dominant representations. No less relevant today than it was twenty or thirty years ago, their work continues to challenge the conventions governing the visual representation of cancer. More recently, projects like The SCAR Project, a series of large-scale portraits of young women profoundly affected by cancer by fashion photographer David Jay, aim to put forth an awareness-raising public image of what cancer really looks like, foregrounding the mastectomy and other scars as an object of aesthetic and political significance. The photographs are at once starkly beautiful and empowering, but also brutally honest and deeply unsettling, exposing real women struggling with the cultural implications of having lost their breast(s) and hair as a result of treatment for cancer. As the project's tagline boldly declares (and both the photos and the young women whose experiences of cancer they convey attest), "Breast Cancer Is Not A Pink Ribbon."

David Jay, photos from The SCAR Project, 2011.

As more explicit images such as those from The SCAR Project gain increasing visibility and become more popular, my hope is that they will slowly and effectively replace the pink ribbons and other pastel trinkets that act as visual referents for cancer. In doing so, they have the potential to transform the way people look at the disease, encouraging viewers to see cancer as terrifying, disfiguring, deadly, and ugly rather than something cheerful, pretty, and “tickled pink.”

painted fall

2012-09-26T10:32:00.001-07:00

rustic orange. scarlet, and crimson maple;
golden yellow birch and poplar;
fiery red sumac—
the warm, familiar colours of a classic Ontario fall.

the changes in the valley have been subtle this year,
with only splashes and pockets of colour
in the fields and woods where I walk with Glasgow,
as if someone climbed into the landscape and painted them there
with soft, impressionistic brushstrokes.

but whether soft and mellow, or brilliant and flaming,
it is enough to sustain me
as I pull the colours from the trees
and hold them close to my heart,
because even in its exaggerated beauty,
this is what it feels like to be home
among the changing seasons.

roses poster by debbie carlos

2012-09-24T08:44:00.002-07:00

I am incredibly drawn to this new roses poster by Debbie Carlos, who has become well known for her striking large format halftone photographic prints and their simple, quiet aesthetic. Although a selection of her photographs are also available in colour, this is the first poster printed in greyscale on colour paper, producing a soft, luminous, and richly textured graphic effect. Available in pink or green, the images are strangely inviting and visually arresting, almost beckoning one to enter into a dark, night-time garden; but they are also remarkingly and unusually beautiful. I am still in awe and can't decide which colour I like best.

View and purchase the poster here.

You can also view a lovely video promoting the poster and Debbie's introduction of colour into her monochromatic work here, produced in collaboration with Studio in the Sun.

from August to Autumn

2012-09-21T14:19:00.000-07:00

I had planned to post photos of the post-wedding holiday we spent at a rustic Northern Ontario camp in August immediately upon returning home to newly married life. I had planned to share our adventures, all the goodness that happened in our lives, all the new and wonderful things I had learned and discovered. But then life happened and we became so incredibly busy as summer winded down and autumn slowly crept in.

But I still want to share those photos and the moments and moods they capture. And I think today, the last day of summer, is the perfect day to do so. I suppose in a fitting way, this is my farewell to that favourite season as we welcome a new one: to long summer days and lazy afternoons; to sultry heat and sweaty, sunkissed skin; to casual evenings relaxing on the balcony and drinking beer; to driving down country roads with the windows down; to biking to pick up our fresh CSA baskets; to the month that contained all the love in the world as it saw our family and friends gather to witness Andrew and I share our vows; to the camp I love and know so intimately, having spent my childhood summers there, and that I am lucky enough to return to every year with my dad.

And yet, the week of our vacation up North was not at all characterisitc of summer. It was cold and rainy, with the strongest winds and biggest waves I have ever witnessed at this time of year, making for a particular kind of gloominess. But it was perfect. It was exactly what we needed to relax and recover from all the work and energy we put into making the wedding happen. We wrapped ourselves up in layers of clothing to bear the weather outside and nestled inside by the fire, warming our spirits with endless glasses of wine and long conversations. Andrew passed long hours fishing at the edge of the dock and I curled up reading and slipping in and out of afternoon naps.

All around us, something about the soft, grey light contrasted against the dark greens of the Boreal Forest and golden reds of the pine and cedar was perfectly seemless.

It was as if the seasons were already turning.