Category Archives: Uncategorized

My Date with the Buddhist Boys at the ROM

While London is a culturally active city, Toronto has the Art Gallery of Ontario and the Royal Ontario Museum.

I find it’s worth taking the train to spend an entire day at either place.  The ROM is my target for this visit.  The last time I was there, I didn’t sketch much but wandered the endless collections until I felt the vertigo and had to get off the ride.

My mission this time has focus.  Find the Buddhist boys.

Baran Mong’s sketches from the Royal Ontario Museum, July 2011.

In the World Culture Asian galleries, there are a couple of collections of Buddhist statures.  whether standing tall or seated with a round belly, they are painted, gilded, jeweled.  Then there’s a group of what looks like plain, unembellished limestone monks.

Another artist, Baran Mong, has also found the boys and included one among his really spirited sketches.

My impression of them from my last trip was that they were very hungry souls, and that the artist had rounded out their faces, which to me, didn’t match the thinness of their bodies beneath the robes.  While the statues might have been commissioned as propaganda (I’ll try to find out more), the artist shows an exceptional compassion for his models.   Maybe even love.

What delights me is that they’re real men, young and quite frankly, thin and not so perfectly spiritual as The Buddha.  Imagine your meditation or yoga group carved in stone.  Then imagine sitting before the that group, each a singular expression captured in stone, and meditating on that — 500 to a 1000 years later.

Love,

Laura

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Purposing My Space

A corner of my studio.

The walls  in the studio are white and it’s not hard for me to leave them bare.  The space is clean, nicely lit, but it’s nothing special. It’s a spare bedroom, for goodness sake, in a boxy apartment.

On the weekend of a recent Artists Studio Show, I had the opportunity to see the studio spaces of ‘real’ artists.  People painted in their basements, in the attic, off the kitchen in old mud rooms.  One had taken over what looked like a family room.  Even with that space, the room was filled with shelving and storage bins, a long strip of corkboard on which ideas were pinned.  A work table took up the centre of the room.  Another artist, working with fibres and textiles, had moved her sewing machine and materials storage structure into a storefront art gallery.  That woman had the best, albeit temporary, space.

I’ve worked in the window of a dry cleaners, hemming slacks and putting in half-pockets and new zippers.  I’ve painted in the studios of Zavitz Hall on the campus at University of Guelph, in the underground mall at Lakehead University.  I’ve gone into my daughter’s school and drawn the classrooms, and  picked up drawing lessons at in the old rooms above London’s The Arts Project.  All public spaces with a purpose.

With a studio in my home, the space remains private for the most part.  One doesn’t invite strangers in, or have them peering through a window.  The room has been reclaimed from being a mere storage area, filled with clutter.  It’s clean and I have space in there to think. Yet I find more distractions.  It’s a little too easy to leave a project and start lunch early.  The dressmaker Judy has more presence in there than I.   And she can be intimidating.

Yet, it feels like summer with the weeks of unseasonably warm weather we’ve had.  Maybe it’s time to wander and gather ideas?

Love,

Laura

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Space: room for the imagination

In the pews at Knox Presbyterian Church, Stratford ON (from
http://presbyterianrecord.ca/2011/01/01/knox-stratford-ont/

Like many, I grew up going to church.  The church we attended was built in a stripped-down cathedral-style.  These Presbyterians had a vision and the means to build.  Lots of  carved wood, of course, but also a soaring ceiling with massive white columns.  The sanctuary wasn’t overcrowded with images, as sometimes happens.  The light from the windows was beautiful, but again, not dark. The overall effect left room for the imagination.

My parents put me into art classes from a young age.  The first ones were held upstairs in the local hockey arena.  I can’t believe we all sat on the rough floor where the dances were held and beer spilled, and drew for two hours.  There was lots of space and light, but it was grotty space.

Then the local art gallery took over and the art classes moved into their space.  Forgive me for saying, but I found a new spiritual home.  Sure, I churned out the crazy activities the instructors had planned, but then I escaped.  I wandered the galleries.

The galleries held public space in an intimate way, the lighting often low.  A bench might be the sole occupant of the centre of the room.  A child could move and turn and be active.  Stand back, approach, retreat, wonder.  I had no idea what the images meant, but they evoked a broad range of feelings and showed a world that went beyond the homogenous biblical narrative in the church sanctuary.  I became an equal partner, though a very young one, in the discourse between viewer and image in the gallery space.

I’m not afraid of space, of being alone in it.  I like the excitement, the possibilities.  I still find wonder in galleries, still experience culture and images with my whole body.  Can you imagine it?

With Love

Laura

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A Mother’s Day Story

Swan, pencil

When I became pregnant, my world shifted and tilted back towards art.   I picked up my pencils and took the lead. I knew where I was headed.

Swans at night, pencil and Mylar film

Stratford Park

June, July and August were spent in the park in Stratford, Ontario.  I walked the river everyday, sometimes at six in the morning because the baby inside me loved walking as much as I did.  Her dad framed up the pictures, and on weekends I set up my display of drawings and sold a few, then made a few more.

Over the past week, I’ve come to see how strongly the park figured in my pregnancy.   The river and huge, gnarly black willows, the swans and couples who walked hand  in hand.  The regular early morning walkers and the Sunday theatre-goers.   All summer long, the beauty filled me.

It’s been interesting to pull together the pictures from that time.  The physical skill of drawing is one thing; making decisions about composition and design is another.  What can’t be taught, or forced, is hitting a deep feeling so truly that it can be seen on the page.  Only one drawing came out as beautifully as my daughter did that summer.

Love,

Laura

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Recording my world

Grumbacher sketchbook cover

Give me  liberty, and give me my sketch pad.  It’s surprising how time flies, and how really interesting my mundane world is.  No fancy trips abroad, just everyday stuff.

Rock cut on North of Superior route, plan for print

I drew all the way home from Thunder Bay, with my friend, Cathy, driving.  I can’t imagine how fast my pencil had to fly to catch the views along the North of Superior route.  It’s breathtaking–the rock and lake.

detail of Algonquin Park sketch

I camped and sketched  in Algonquin Park until at night I dreamed only of the trees, of being on the trails with the undergrowth rushing past.

I sketch where I’ve lived–Stratford where Robin was born, Thunder Bay and Guelph where I went to university, and London.

The Green, Wortley Village

Guelph, along the river

View from room in Thunder Bay

Stratford Park

If it’s practice, is it art?

Jeanette, conte

Honestly, it’s all practice and that’s why I decided to study art so many years ago.  There would always be more to learn, more to say, better or different ways to express visually.   I started figure drawing at Ryerson in the Fashion Design program.  Of course, we learned to play with proportions, but the models were not stick figures.

Jeanette, conte

Matt, conte

Jeanette, conte

Jeanette, conte

Lately I’ve taken portrait and figure drawing classes with Hida Behzadi at The Arts Project.  There’s Jeanette and Matt, wonderful models, on page after page.

Green as I am at heart, I have used paper unabashedly  because it’s the only way to practice.  Large pads of newsprint covered with lines and smudges from little sticks of Conte chalk.

And always room for improvement.

Something totally different:  I learned about collage with Hendrikus Bervoets in an Art for AIDS International workshop.  What a fun and colourful way to get into a socially conscious groove.  Each one is a square but even squares can be interesting.

Stone Thrower

Fire and water

Monkey Love

Man on Fire

Some treasures for the $5 sale

Seed with a caduceus stem, poster paint

There are treasures, like this one from when my young daughter and I would paint.  I had to be fast and I had to be bold.  It’s not gallery art, but it captures the potential.  We painted out on the back porch when the weather was good.  This one was created in the winter on the floor of our sparse living room.

The sea rose, Conte

And then my personal response to the tsunami in 2004.  Very powerful earth energy.  I expected something wild to flow onto the page, not this geometric, rather balanced piece.  I still wonder at the sense of unfolding, of a plan.

Like many, I use the backs of pages to take phone messages, make lists for shopping, whatever.  With lists and messages, comes doodles.  The Sudoku calendar offered a year’s worth of pages and the perfect size to let my inner doodle live.  Don’t you love gel pens?

Noise on the back of a Sudoku page

The mess of logic.

Sunshine morning doodle

$5 sale

The studio has been quiet.   It’s still not quite right.

Handmade, half-filled sketch book with drawings and notes.

Now I’m looking at what attachment means.

Recently, someone said that it’s one thing to draw and fill pages in a sketchbook, but it’s another to make a business of selling art.  He’s right.  Although I’ve studied art and practiced techniques all my life, I’ve never seen my art as a business.  It’s come from a purely creative need.

And ultimately, it’s meant for sharing.  I get such a giggle looking back through sketchbooks and in my portfolio.  What was I thinking?  It makes me as happy as when I made it.  Like a drug, I want to do more.   I believe that’s why the arts thrive in economic downturns.  We use creativity energy to heal, to regroup, to celebrate.  It’s a way to share loves and vulnerable wishes and passions.

That’s where the $5 sale comes in.  I’m pulling out all my sketchbooks, the drawings on paper, watercolour paintings and prints I’ve managed to hold onto through the years.  I’m cataloging them all, then I’m letting them go.

For $5, you could make up a little portfolio of work that speaks to you.  You can have a collection of art to kick start your own creativity.  You can have a book to look through, then pick up a pencil or paint brush and start a conversation.  Or you may just want an interesting  piece for the coffee table.  All I’ll ask is that you sign off on reproduction rights and the work is yours to adore and use as you want.

Not the greatest business plan, but what a great way to exchange creative energy.

Love,

Laura

Pencil drawing of the kitchen on Langarth Street.

From the series I drew for Stratford Art in Park. Pencil and reflective Mylar film on paper.

Goofing around with watercolour on paper.

Push

I am a selfless soul, one among many on the planet.  There must be at least a billion other people like me who quickly get down to brass tacks when it comes to helping someone else out.  On my own, I could die of clutter.

The studio has been a mess all winter and you know about the piles.  I’ve got a corner of the table clear for working on the sweater pattern and I can get to the sewing machine.  Otherwise, the room is occupied.  Files of work-related documents, binders and books cozy up beside the art and textile projects like they are old pals.

So here’s the push.  Last week I bartered expertise with a friend–his in business for mine in watercolour painting.  Only, where will I put him when he comes to the studio?  As you know, there’s fabric piled on the chairs.  At least, I think there are chairs underneath.

For the sake of this person, for this relationship, I’ve literally pushed everything not related to studio practices out.  Just pushed it out the door.  Now I have space–floor, table, shelf and closet space.  Soon, I will have chairs.

Never mind what I’ll do with the boxes in the hallway.   Never mind how great it looks to my friend.  The push from helping someone else has helped me out enormously.  I can work in my studio again.

Love it when I discover what everyone else knows.

 

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String Theory

I handle the wool for this sweater project like it’s string theory, like somehow it will explain everything.  Like why the trees are bare for months on end and I accept that as normal.  They will leaf out but until they actually come out, it’s all theory and calculations, statistics, science.  It’s a wonder.

The pattern is marked out on graph paper and I have my measurements and stitch gauges.  I watch it from the corner of my eye, as I watch the trees outside my window, buds growing but it’s still months before they will leaf out.  Little seems to be happening, but I’m full of wonder–though of a different kind for the sweater.

I will confess that I lied, and you know I did, on February 22 when I said the fit of this sweater doesn’t matter.  Of course I want it to fit on the first try.  I want homemade to look unique and good. Not unique, nice try.  I want the sweater to be to warm and flattering.  I want to wear it outside the house.

If I’m honest, the project is beyond my experience in knitting.  There’s lots to wonder about.  I just don’t know how it will turn out.  I’ve researched and theorized.  I have fit clothing before.  I can knit.  I can play with string.

There’s nothing left to do but try.  If it works out, I’ll be a step closer to knowing the theory of everything.

 

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