Homage to my Umbrella IV

To tell a story. To do so with self-depreciation and humility. To make choreography.

Heather McHugh does so brilliantly. I was going to quote the last words of the poem, the sage words, but that would be taking away the soul of the story. Do enjoy.

Homage to my Umbrella II

The sound of the sea greets me in the dark hour before dawn. Salty foam from the white caps out at sea mingle with the turbulent sandy swirl of waves breaking over the coral reef just outside me open bedroom window.

There is a rhythmic intake of silence then a swooshing sound, and thankfully the thunder of a wave breaking below. My mind drops back into a dream on the plains of an Arabian desert. Sultans. Silk. Caravans. Salt. Spices. Images that jumped out of the pages of the book I am reading. It lies half open with my thumb marking my spot. The reading lamp draws night creatures even in the coming dawn.

Bird song. First tentatively. Chirp. Breep. Cheep. Then a sudden wild burst of abandonment. A symphony.

My breath changes. My limbs shift. My mind wakens again, but this time to the day.

Darling

A few years ago, I discovered Jackie Kay a Scottish poet. She makes me cry and laugh*, in general, makes me believe that the world is a messy place, but sublimely so.



What a gift it must be to speak your mind and ponder your thoughts in such a way as with words well chosen.



I have a friend back in Montreal who does so by writing plays. Watching Jackie Kay read her poems today, made me miss my friend, for she can always shake me awake with her words.

* Be sure to listen to both of the poems in both of the videos.

Mangrove at Dusk

There is a mangrove near where my mother lives and where my parents used to keep their boat when they were not off sailing. Late afternoon and during dusk herons and cranes used to gather. Not in plenty, but like fishermen each carrying for their territory.

White continues

My musing on the colour white continues...

Sometimes Life Flows Gently

The last week or two, life has been good. It is hard to describe except life appears to be flowing gently. I call a potential customer and they say, "Sure, bring your concept over." I call the insurance company who has just sent their second notice and they say, "No problem. When can we expect payment." (I kid you not). A friend sends a photo of a peace lily, which I am hoping to make up into a collage for another friend's new home and right from the first moment the collage makes itself.

Then to top it off, I am bundling up to go outdoors after having spent a hectic day trying to get some office work done, and my mother-in-law (who lives next door) comes in and ask if it is ok if she makes dinner tonight. How marvelous is that!

The Colour White

I have a friend whose favourite colour is white. I've never known, or been conscious of knowing, anyone who favourite colour is white. Mint green, China blue, even antique rosa... but white. That is new. Now this dear friend is moving into a new home in the next days and I'd like to create a collage for her (she hinted she wanted one). It turns out not to be an easy task.

Even though white is more or less the presence of all colour when thinking about prisms of light. When creating collages though it has very little to do with white, but the absence of colour. The above collage is the first attempt at series of collages called, "The Colour White".