Mute swan, on water, on paper

Last month, I posted a photo of a mute swan at the Westham Island bridge:

One of my readers, the artist Elva Paulson (Elva Field Notes), loved his pose, and did a painting based on it, which she posted on 100 Paintings Challenge. We (Laurie and I) love it!

Isn't he beautiful?

To see more of Elva's sketches and paintings, visit her blog, or the Challenge blog. (8 other artists post there, too. The challenge refers to the goal of posting 100 paintings in a year. Elva is on her second 100.)

Our daily art

Something different ...

Years ago, on the narrow stone and mud steps that make up many of the “streets” of Taxco, in Mexico, I met a little girl, about 9 or 10 years old. She was sitting at the edge of one of the drier and wider steps, painting on sheets of bark paper, amate, that she kept on the step above her. Finished paintings were stored by her feet on the next step down.

She showed me her work, glowing with pleasure and pride; street scenes, as she saw them. She followed no pattern. Each painting was unique, although certain motifs were in all of them; the people she knew, doing the work she was familiar with, the flowers that overhang every roof and fill every empty corner, the blazing sun above everything.

Taxqueña's Mexico. Paint and crayon on bark.

Detail. Men with vegetables for market, straw-thatched adobe houses.

I bought one; so did the other people with me. Ten pesos I paid, if I remember correctly. I should have paid more, but that is what she asked, and I didn't bargain, at least.

Is this art? Primitive art, maybe? Some would say yes; that little girl wouldn't recognize the term. She painted. That was how she brought home money that would buy her family that day's supper. But there's no doubt but that she loved what she did, that she put her whole being into it, that it expressed the colour, bustle and beauty of her home town.

Taxco is a tourist town. Many of the roofless artisans, the ones without the funds for a shop, sell their work around the public plaza in front of the cathedral. But down towards the market under a roof made of cotton sheets and rope, down, down, down all those steep, slippery steps, where the people of the town buy their daily food, these handicrafts, these “artesanías” are needed, too. There are the clay pots, mugs and bowls; the paper hangings to celebrate family and national occasions; the baskets (I bought one of these, big enough to pack the bean and rice pots I also took home); the hand-woven rebosos; the stick and reed chairs, painted in cheerful colours; and yes, the occasional small painting to decorate the walls.

Men come to market with heavy bundles of pots on their backs, or tied onto burros dwarfed by the load. Women carry smaller loads, but all, even the children, come burdened. All of them are involved in the production of their stock. Staying alive is serious business.

Every town in Mexico has its equivalent, a handful or a small crowd of artisan/sellers with their wares spread out on boxes or cloths in some convenient place where people pass by. If you've been a tourist, you've seen them, maybe bought something pretty to take home at what seemed like a ridiculously low price.

I have a story to tell about a group of artesanos caught in one of our modern dilemmas.

To be continued, tomorrow ...

Artsy ducklings

We saw our first ducklings of the year yesterday, in Cougar Creek Park;

Mama, Papa, and two baby ducks.

The mother and her two little ones were in the creek, in deep shade and rippling water when we first saw them.

A circle under reflected trees.

This part of Cougar Creek is always dark, even more so when the leaves are out. The cameras couldn't cope with the lack of light, added to the confusion of ripples and reflections, and the ducklings bouncing on the water. At one point, I noticed that my camera was taking 1/10 of a second; far too long for a photo of a moving object.

And yet ... the colours were so rich, and the ducklings so cute; we clicked away, regardless. And the photos came out looking more like paintings than photography.

See; here's one in the style of Emily Carr, all dramatic swirls of green:

Another Emily:

And how about a Van Gogh; luminous colours laid on with an impasto knife?

I think this next one could be called Abstract Expressionism:

And then the ducks came out into the sunlight, and posed for a normal family photo again:

Portrait in the Realist style; see Robert Bateman.

Just one thing, and I'll be quiet

Post #3 of Culture Crawl, 2009 series. (#1, #2)

I don't believe in artist's statements. Oh, I read them all, carefully. I think they're important, giving an insight into the background, values, and aims of the artists. But I don't believe them.

The thing is, the writer of the statement is trying to express in words what he has already said in his most powerful language; his artistic creations, the melding of his talent, his feeling, his skill, his determination. The written statement is a pale shadow only, a second-best.

It follows that anything I can say about someone else's work is a ghost of a reflection of a shadow. So here is a sampling of work we saw in this year's Crawl, with as few words of mine as possible:

Angel in a cage? Paneficio Studios

ALL SEEING, Valerie Arntzen. Wood box, found wood, fridge cores, spring, wood ball, acrylic rod, map. 

Sandra Bilawich. Vase, stone and barnacles

Arnt Arntzen, bowls

Arnt Arntzen, airplane wing bench

101 ladles.

I've been watching this room develop for some time. The artist wasn't in; Crawlers examined it from the outside.

101 ladles and a row of blue houses, three Crawlers, reflected

The only explanation. On the door.

Kathleen Barrett. Untitled. Root, box, stones.

Kathleen Barrett. Wire, iron ball, rusty pipes, root, board

Bamboo art. Rob Thomson

Crib board, bracelet, candle holders. Bamboo art, Rob Thomson

Chain and crystal lampshade. Artist unidentified.

Hard-hat table, clock. Noah Goodis, Ironside Metalworks.

Noah, with his chair storage solution.

Louise Francis-Smith. Wall of her reflected photos in the glass of another. Views of Strathcona, people of Chinatown.

'nuff said.

Following our noses. Northward, mostly.

We're home, we've unpacked, we've even cooled down after the hot drive. And we're already talking about going back. Soon.

Now where was I? Here: Day One, Leg Two: the Sunshine Coast.

The Sechelt Peninsula is known locally as the Sunshine Coast for a reason; it has the mildest climate to be found in BC., with 14 more days of sunshine than flowery Victoria, the merest sprinkling of snow in the winter (if that), and Vancouver Island on the west serving as a windbreak. At the Langdale ferry terminal, a palm tree grows unprotected, facing the sea.

The peninsula stretches from Gibson's Landing at the southern tip, through a narrow neck at Sechelt townsite, to Earl's Cove in the north, where another ferry (free, outbound) takes us to the Powell River area. Local industry majors in tourism, fishing, and logging. The Sechelt native band quarries gravel. And all along the road we see little signs, with arrows and the legend(s), "Artist - artisan -potter - carver ---"

We followed some of these arrows, with varying results.

Just south of Sechelt, we turned at the sign of the "Art Barn". At the end of a long drive down a winding gravel road, we found the driveway. And this closed door, leaning against a tree.

Behind the tree, in an open field, a battered table and two red chairs invited us to stop.

Imagine tea and scones, with plenty of fresh raspberries, served "al fresco".

Frayed silver fabric, flaking paint.

The Art Barn.

Invitation to rest.

The artist was obviously planning to return; the closure was temporary. We checked out the work displayed in the field and around the walls.

Detail of structure in yard: "Mardi", upside-down.

Two motifs predominated: rusty metal, cut and shaped into panels, possibly to be used as doors or gates. (One is attached to the wall at the top of the stairs.) And natural objects, painted silver. Even the bare tree in the yard was half silvered.

Silvered antlers, with cryptic markings on the skull.

Back on the road, some little ways on, we passed this mysterious carving.

Like a totem pole on acid.

Detail.

There was no sign identifying the work or the artist. It is what it is.

The town of Sechelt; it was too hot already, and we took ourselves to the beach.

Another mysterious construction, this one not intended as art.

Sechelt rockweed. Smaller than ours, at home.

Steep, pebbly beach. The bottom cuts off sharply; no wading here.

Onward, and upward! Or, at least, Northward.

The highway skirts a small, green and blue lake, possibly known as Trout Lake. We stopped to look.

Trout Lake, with dry tree.

Water lilies stand on tall stems.

Assorted water plants.

Alien wildlife.

And native wildlife.

The obelisk posture is a handstand-like position that some dragonflies and damselflies assume to prevent overheating on sunny days. The abdomen is raised until its tip points at the sun, minimizing the surface area exposed to solar radiation. When the sun is close to directly overhead, the vertical alignment of the insect's body suggests an obelisk.

...

When the sun is low but the air is still hot, dragonflies may adopt a modified obelisk position with the abdomen only partially raised (From Wikipedia.)

These blue dragonflies were hunting along the shoreline. Out over the water lilies, large black and white dragonflies darted back and forth, too quickly to photograph, too quickly even to see properly.

The lake looked cool, but the sun was still hot. We couldn't stand on our heads like dragonflies, so on we went.

Next: Stonewater at Garden Bay.

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Balancing act

It finally stopped snowing. We dug ourselves (for the last time, I hope) out of the parking lot, and drove down to White Rock for some salty air.

It's green down there! Snow lurks in dark corners still, but the road and sidewalks are clear, the lawns are green. Laurie even saw a dandelion!

So far South. The banana belt of BC. We felt as if we'd been transported to Hawaii. (Well, not quite; it was still cold.)

We walked towards Kwomais Point from the eastern tip of the park. The tide was going out, but still high enough that we had to stick to the rocks at first. There was plenty to see, a couple of things to wonder about; I'll write about them tomorrow.

A good ways along the shore, Laurie saw these balanced rocks, and pointed them out to me:

"Seated woman"
Photo on the diagonal, to include the surrounding multicoloured rocks and stones.

I have always been intrigued by these towers, and this one was unusually beautiful, almost like a sculpture; I took dozens of photos from all angles.

A "robe" of barnacles

I ended up sitting on the wet rocks to get it against the sky.

Detail of balance point. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't been seeing it.

Clear view. And beyond, the artist himself, working on another tower.

"Let's see; this one fits this way ..."

Adding rock #4.

Considering.

Second tower, as it stood when we passed, going home.

I spoke to the artist; his name is Gary, and he has a nice smile. And loads of talent.

I found a YouTube documentary (4:11) about a well-known local rock-balancing artist, Kent Avery. I've seen his work on English Bay. Amazing!

*Update, February 7th: Here are Gary's Flickr photos: some more amazing work!

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