Last Post for 2010

This has been an interesting year, with travels and losses and lessons learned.
It moved along fast, they seem to accelerate now, the years, leaving us to wonder where we are at the mark of the new one, somewhat shaky and unsure.
Wishes and blessings, conclusions and resolutions - they only make me fret about the unaccomplished tasks, the things that went past us as we were sleeping.
So let me say this - in the circle of life there is only one begining and one end. The yearly countdown is just another reason for a fancy dinner.
Lets just keep on with what we were doing, and don't let the fireworks get in the way.

New Qoute

Art is the colour on the sketches of life.

My son said that, reflecting on the Arts in his applications to various high schools. Then he asked - has this been said like that before? well, not to me, it hasn't, so I give him the credit.

We went to his pediatrician the other day, and he liked the art on the wall in the waiting room, a manufactured sugary harbour scene. He asked me if I like it too, and I said I don't, and tried to explain why, and what the difference is between this bad kitsch (I do love good kitsch) and a good painting. BTW, I tried to google bad paintings of this sort to post here and was pleased to see there were none.
I felt guilty and pretentious as I was messing his innocent enjoyment and told him everyone is entitled to like what they like in art, but I realized we must visit some good museums soon to show him the difference. Museums in Toronto are terribly expensive, and we just stopped going. Perhaps it's time to resume the habit.

From the Mouth of Babes

In translation, a conversation between my sister and her 5 year old son:

S: Mom, do you know where heaven is?
M: where?
S: A huge house in the sky made of clouds. Those who die go there.
M: aha.
S: Do you think grandpa is already there?
M: Maybe he is.
S: How will he get there?
M: hmmm
S: you know, those who go there become clouds too.
M: Do they?
S: I haven't decided yet what is more fun, to be a cloud or a person.
M: We can't know until we get there.
S: When we get there will we meet grandpa?
M: I think we might.
S: But how will we recognize him among all the clouds? they all look the same...

An Unmanly Post - Enchanting Dolls

This is not something men are into, unless they are alive: dolls. But I am a girl after all. This site is fascinating to me because the artist chronicles the process of creation.
I found it while looking for something completely different. Google is a surprising place, you never know where it might take you. I love this discovery.
http://www.enchanteddoll.com/blog

Music for the Soul

Alexandre Tharaud is a new star in the classical music sky. He shines brightly and with good reason - just close your eyes listen. And then look at his pictures - he is young and beautiful and sexy. Music publishers love that, he sells very well, but it's not fluff - he is for real.
These days the only thing that puts some order and calm in my thoughts is Bach music. No other can do what he does. He makes me dance.

Accomplishments

My friend Susan had her book launch party last night. Susan is a Canadian historian researching First Nations bands in the west coast. Here's the lovely cover to her book:

She read to us a few words from the introduction. I was impressed not only by her ability to read in low lighting without glasses - I can't do that anymore, but by the quality of her writing and the passion she obviously has for her subject.
Susan is not only a Renaissance Woman, but a dedicated customer of Renaissance Man. Her husband Jay was wearing a timeless Alexander McQueen jacket which he purchased here, and looked smashing.

Sad Days

I think I'm expected to snap out of it, but it doesn't seem to happen just like that. Yes, sadness takes it's sweet time, it comes and goes, it overflows, it makes me feel crazy occasionally, but I don't think I am.
I'm allowing myself to stay connected to what is lost - having a father - and to learn to live with the permanency and factuality of something as banal yet incomprehensible as death. I don't quite know yet how to do it.
We tell each other that it really doesn't fit our father to be dead, it doesn't suit him. This must be where thoughts and theories of the after life come from: our inability to comprehend this sharp difference between being, and then not.

And for your listening pleasure: two fantastic songs by the great late Lhasa de Sella.
If you wish to read the translation to the lyrics of the second song (and I recommend you do) click here.

Third Time Lucky

I get this silliness straight into my inbox. Today I love it - to be compared to the Roadrunner, what could be better?

Rob Brezsny's Astrology

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): In the old Looney Tunes cartoons, Wile E. Coyote is constantly chasing after the Road Runner, a long-legged bird that prefers running to flying. Presumably, Coyote would eat the Road Runner if he ever caught him, but he never does; the bird's too fast and smart. In one recurring motif, the Road Runner dashes into the entrance of a cave that's cut into a wall of sheer rock. When Coyote tries to follow him, he smashes into the rock, and it's revealed that the cave entrance is just a very realistic painting. I suspect that you're going to have the Road Runner's power in the coming week: an ability to find and use doors that are inaccessible to other people.

The Art of Perfect Writing

A random sentence from "The flight of The Maidens" by my still-top-rated Jane Gardam:

"Along the lane, beneath the trees. The table was bare today and sopped with dew. She wrote 'Hester Fallowes' in the dew. This table is getting at me, she thought. Some symbol of something, some metaphor, an algebraic meaning. Una should be here. Oh God, I wish Una was here! She walked regretfully, all around the table, thinking of Una, and then marched on. It's Alice in Wonderland here, she thought. In a minute there'll be a white rabbit.
There was not, but around the next bend in the lane someone was seated head-on to Hetty, on a big white horse."

I think this is simply sublime. I think when someone is able to write in such a way, they must be happy, but I'm afraid life's not that simple.

Inspiration

It's worth driving the kids to school in the morning - one gets to listen not only to their interesting thoughts, but to the radio as well, and discover some treasures: This Handel piece is played by one of the greatest - Kieth Jarrett, and as always, it is perfection.

A Few More

As you can see I am in a poetic mood. I suppose mourning does that to a person.
This one I translated myself - I'm not sure it does justice to the original, but my take on translated poetry is this: if you can't read the original because you don't know the language, a translation is your only access. So here goes:

We, whose lives by Agi Mishe’ol

We, whose lives so dubious
Softly cradle on our way to the end.
We do not insist on returning to paradise
we do not look for signs
Of the divine spark.

We are collaborators:
We let wicked imagination
We let music
We let witchcraft –
We even use others to bewitch ourselves
We throw them all like a net and fall in love.

We are comfortable in this misty, embracing fog.
Our lives swallowed in the general conduct
Stirring in this little space we have
Turning here and there a bit
We sleep
Satisfied with the unraveled mystery
Of the world.

Our truth changes from minute to minute,
We fulfill human need
Without enlightened moments to blinds us
Or to arouse us.

We wake up hungry for bread.
We want coffee.
We fuck a little.

Still, we are not devoid of feeling
That God loves us
And from time to time angels gather their wings
To rest a while in our company.

A Few Words on the Soul

I was sent this poem by a good friend who shares the love of well arranged words with me. It's good to be educated by friends in times when your own well gets dried up by circumstance.

A Few Words on the Soul by Wislawa Szymborska
translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

We have a soul at times.
No one’s got it non-stop,
for keeps.

Day after day,
year after year
may pass without it.

Sometimes
it will settle for awhile
only in childhood’s fears and raptures.
Sometimes only in astonishment
that we are old.

It rarely lends a hand
in uphill tasks,
like moving furniture,
or lifting luggage,
or going miles in shoes that pinch.

It usually steps out
whenever meat needs chopping
or forms have to be filled.

For every thousand conversations
it participates in one,
if even that,
since it prefers silence.

Just when our body goes from ache to pain,
it slips off-duty.

It’s picky:
it doesn’t like seeing us in crowds,
our hustling for a dubious advantage
and creaky machinations make it sick.

Joy and sorrow
aren’t two different feelings for it.
It attends us
only when the two are joined.

We can count on it
when we’re sure of nothing
and curious about everything.

Among the material objects
it favors clocks with pendulums
and mirrors, which keep on working
even when no one is looking.

It won’t say where it comes from
or when it’s taking off again,
though it’s clearly expecting such questions.

We need it
but apparently
it needs us
for some reason too.

Fall

I am thankful for the beauty this season offers, the light, the smells, the rich colours in the sky and on earth.
I still can't come back to work, though. I'm sorry. Perhaps tomorrow.

Farewell to The Captain

This is how I want to remember my father - in all his glory. A strong, warm and beautiful, dependable man, passionate about everything.
We said our goodbye on the waters of the harbour, where he spent most of his life, we dropped flowers and tears, we sang sea songs and watched them float away into the sunset.
His friends were there, they raised a few glasses as they did when he was still around, and I'm pretty sure they were thinking of their own end.
It was not a sad affair. Sadness will come as his absence will present itself in our lives, in time.

In Memory of My Father

11.7.1928-13.10.2010
He loved the sea, and passed this passion down to me by taking me with him on many of his journeys . I spent the most memorable moments of my childhood on the seas by his side as he worked, and I knew how lucky I was.

The End

by Mark Strand

Not every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.

When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the sky

Is no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.

Nuit Blanche

Last night I did something crazy: I danced at the Distillery, participating in a communal project called The River Peace, one of the hundreds of art installations of Nuit Blanche. Outside Soma, in the cold night air, moving non stop for 2 hours in a meditative dance, alone in my little pool of light but surrounded by musicians (some better than others) and thousands of spectators passing by.
It was challenging, to say the least. But all and all an interesting experience, uplifting, and despite today's sore muscles, I have no regrets.
I happened to find this: a picture on Flicker that someone took of it.
After my shift was done, I set out to explore a bit of the city's excitements.
At the Royal Conservatory I saw, after waiting in line to get in for about 15 minutes, these cascading vibrating tentacles, and their delicate shadows:


Then we visited our friend Alex explaining his Conspiracy/Cuckoo mobile installed at the Coach house at Spadina House:


On Wed. night last week, on my way to a rehearsal, the sky over the city were ablaze:


I like Toronto.

Full Moon in the City

I went to a dance workshop in the Distillery last week, and coming out at the end of it there was this incredible full moon floating in magical gentle clouds on a warm night. I couldn't resist trying to capture it.

Moments in Time

It was a long time to be away from this half of my life. It was a hard time. But there are sweet moments to be had in any given situation and here are some of the ones I managed to document:

New moon, new year.

Hiking in the Hula Valley at sunset:

On the magnificent Mediterranean:


At the bus stop, not Nazareth:


Can I have this for my kitchen? no, no one makes tiles like those anymore:

Songs from a faraway land

Charming Sappy Song - Jamie Cullum

Heard it tonight on the radio, sharing with you all.

Intolerable Beauty

That's how my son referred to one of the cats.
He is right - beauty can be intolerable. It makes us possessive and greedy. It overwhelms, takes precedence, distracts and can be destructive, it can break your heart.
When cats are involved, it's harmless. With humans, less so, and with objects - well, that's how we get to have so much crap we know not what to do with it all.
Having said that - anyone in dire need of some beautiful clothes? come to me!!!


This image is from a blog of a guy who among other things chronicles street art on his daily walk to work. Check it out - great images there.

http://www.kevinbroome.com/labels/Street Level.html

Announcing - Personal Shopper Services

A few people who know my natural ability to match bodies with clothes have suggested I add personal shopping services to people who need it and can afford it. I have decided to try and augment the business by offering my time, and my good eye to people who can't do it themselves and need help.
So - if you know anyone who might benefit from it please let them know.

My new literary obsession

Her name is Jane Gardam, a British author of substance.
She's not well known round these parts, but she should be. Her prose is pure poetic pleasure, not overdone, her characters well drawn, her stories fulfilling. She writes mainly about women and their relationships, but the men are there too, and not as an aside, she gets them as well.
I'm on a roll with her books, and luckily, she's prolific enough to provide me with the reading material I need nowadays.
Click on the post title to get more information about her.

Inception

The hottest thing this summer? hardly.
Empty fluff, albeit quite beautifully done, is still fluff. Forgettable in every way. No residue left once you're out of the theater.
The discussion about dreams and their construction is always an interesting subject, but this film reduced it to some slow mo tricks, however technically well manouvered, and pretty much left it there.
It was a good thing to do as a family on a summer night in the city, though, and afterwords we all shared some of our dreams and nightmares and since a discussion between parents and kids is always welcomed, I can't dismiss it altogether.
It is good entertainment, as movies should be. But don't expect a revelation.

Dear Banksy

I wish he'd chosen my little shop wall for his art. He's a wonderful artist and any city should be proud to have his stuff adorning it's walls.
I might be very late joining the party about him, most likely, but the film "Exit through the gift shop" which brought him to Toronto is not about him at all, I don't know what that was all about. Who outside of L.A. has heard of the other guy?

They're Coming to Take Me Away Ha Ha

Dedicated to Rat Under Paper (don't ask, listen and enjoy):

Summer in the City

So far these are our summer adventures in this lively city of ours:
Home made birthday pizza.


Hoards of people in our neighbourhood congregating to celebrate Pride.


A new cafe in Kensington Market.


Hot cat resting.


Kids dancing Bob Fosse.

The Dior Magic

I got this immaculate Dior shirt yesterday, among other fine garments, that made me sorry I 'm not a medium size man with somewhere to go and money to spend. Simple elegance, understated sophistication and quality - the mark of a well designed object.
It retails somewhere around $600, and is on sale at RM for a song at $175.
The other object of desire is a John Varvatos vest. I can't do it justice by describing it, you just have to see it to believe it. I'll only say it is made like something with the quality and attention to detail from the old days. Retail value - $450. RM price, $150.

The Cat Came Back

After being away for 3 nights he was on our doorstep this morning. We posted his picture all over the neighbourhood, and think someone held him in their place for all that time, and finally had the heart to let him go home. What a relief!

Freddie has gone missing

If you see him please tell us. Ginger is very upset and sad.

Someone forgot to turn the oven off upstairs

And we are all burning here. I'm not complaining at all because everybody who knows me knows I love the heat, but who could possibly be working in a non-air conditioned place on a day like today? I admit I can't, and therefore the shop is closed.
I should have stayed by the lake.

What a difference a week makes

It's Pride weekend and the city has changed colours, from bleak and scary to bright and silly. the streets around here are brimming with people who discard their usual clothing and opt for either bare skin or outfits so outrageous you just have to lough.
This evening walking home from work a group of lovely men and women, who normally you wouldn't look twice at, strode down Alexander street in full S&M regalia, corsets, chains, leather and plastic galore. Oh they were scrumptious and looked like they were heading to a night of delicious debauchery. Alas, I was so mesmerized I didn't have time to snap my camera at them in time.
I did dress my female mannequin appropriately for the Dyke Parade though, helmet, leather vest and bare breasts, as required.


I found a security convex mirror at a junk shop and waiting to put it up as soon as I recruit some help. Here I sit in it's reflection, dust and all:

A Desecrated City - Toronto

On a Thursday night, a lovely warm June night, the streets are deserted, barely a car to be seen, and no people.
There are at least 10 cops to every civilian, the poor policemen seem bored and a bit pathetic in their riot gear when there are no citizens to police, no rioters to scare. They walk around aimlessly, heavy helmets hanging from their belts, or ride in packs of 30-50 blocking the non-existent traffic.
There was one short and not very effective rally on Yonge street in mid day, lined with cops on both side of the streets despite the tame nature of the protesters, mostly young and well mannered.
The whole thing is simply ridiculous.
We should be talking about the earthquake that shook the city yesterday, instead we talk about this worthless summit no one but Fuhrer Harper wanted - to have a little party to entertain his 'best friends' on our expense.
And we let him!

Some of My Favourite Things

Sunday morning cherries at the Distillery;


Seeing my boy dancing;


My fave morning coffee joint - Manic on College;


A certain lady with severe Pre-Rafaelite qualities in spirit and home;

Happy Fathers' Day

If you are one, have one, had one, want to be one, or in the process of becoming a father - what a thing to be! To have! What a privilege, what honour!

My very own special father is suffering so much these days, I am at a loss as to what I could wish him. What he wants would cause us a great sadness.

Rufus the Great

Went to see Rufus Wainwright in concert last night. It was a curious thing, all in all. The first act was a memorial of sorts to his recently departed mother, dark and morbid, not altogether cooked artistically, but interesting. In the second act he was more interactive with the audience, quite charming and sang things people know and love, and had a bit of a run about that days critique of his new opera. It was a good outing.
Here he is in a song that I love:

Wire in the Blood

My latest obsession: Robson Green - gosh what a great face this guy has. It's not fair.
This British TV series features him as a clinical psychologist who helps the police in cases of serial killers. I believe it's the best crime drama I've seen. His characters must win the title of the dishiest looking geek on TV.

What is Ashtar Command?

Good song!

Cats of Distraction/Destruction?

We've got 2 of those. They sound the same. They have the same issues, only more. They make us laugh every day.

Wild Is The Wind - Cat Power

This song has a wintery feel to it, a contradiction to this perfectly warm glorious summery day, yet beautiful to listen to nonetheless.
What can be better than basking in the sun, under the shade of a blooming tree in a jungley wild garden?

The Anti Chick Flick

Some days I get inspired and come up with a brilliant idea. Yesterday I invented a new phrase - and if you use it in the future be kind and give me the credit.

What is the Opposite of a Chick Flick - so simple: A Dick Flick.

You heard it here first! It's perfect I think, just as demeaning of both men and the movies. Exactly like the feminine version.
Now if I could find a way to capitalize on this idea, my life would be complete.