Sunday, July 23, 2006

TRUTH IS STRANGER

The other day I was "on set" playing a mother to a young man of about 19 years.... perhaps he was a few years younger or older....I have never been able to tell the age of a man. We were seated in a theatre ......the scene was a highschool play in a highschool auditorium and the place was filled with mostly noisy, often obnoxious and almost universally bored young people.....it wasn't pleasant.

We'd been paired up because of our physical similarities..... tall, fair haired, fine boned .... it was a good call on the A.D.'s part......but as we were surrounded by 200 sweetly nubile (great old fashioned word) females of every variety and shape I didn't expect more than a polite hello and goodbye.....

Where am I going with this?????

Life is so odd..... my Dad always used to say that truth was stranger than fiction.... and it is. I enjoy the social aspect of film work....it gets me out of the studio.....so I am always pleased to have a chat with a pleasant neighbour rather than read my book.....but I was surprised at how quietly eager my "son" was to talk with me......Was I married?.... Did I have children?..... delicate and sensitive questions for a woman of my age, but proof of "my son's" innocence....

Between each bout of questions he would put his head down......in contemplation?....in exhaustion?....... "Would it be a long night?" he asked......."Was there a blue night bus on Dufferin?"

I wondered if he was worried about getting home, assured him that we'd be done before the subway closed down.... then he looked at me...but with eyes so full of loss and disquiet.... "It's just that I have a funeral in the morning.....really early....."

This gentle young man's aunt had committed suicide wednesday morning.....and he didn't understand......How does one respond to this?????.......I followed the script and played his mother.........earning my paultry pennies from heaven....trying to soften the burden of an unquiet soul......

The story was so sad.......The woman had been hit by a bus months ago.....but had recieved no compensation..... and suffered from unbearable and chronic pain ...... she was staying with her mother. The boys father was also living with mother and heard his sister get up during the small hours of the morning......thinking she was letting the dog out onto the balconey he went back to sleep....only to be awakened by the police a few hours later......the balconey was on the 17th floor.... she had jumped to ease the pain.....

I talked about pain and how life can become too difficult to bear.....How such decisions usually come only after long and careful thought........ That it was a decision that was her's to make..... That funerals are a way of clarifying the reality of death for those who are left behind......... I pulled out all the stops for my child....... and as strangers in a strange land, we passed a quiet moment contemplating lifes game of chance....

"My grandfather died in the spring," he sighed at last....."This will be my second funeral......."

Monday, July 10, 2006

Crows?

Why are there so many crows?

To me it's simple....Crows are so variable....They can express so many of the things I want to say.......but to explain how they came to hold such a significant place in my work.....and to justify my almost constant use of their personnae.... that's complex.

The crow suits me........it's free...... and strong.....and maligned.....It soars atop mountains, its wing span dark and sleek......it screams its independence for all to hear.....(no passive aggressivity from these old souls)......it survives...it flourishes.... it's intelligent......(did you know some crows use tools?)

In the mythology of almost any civilisation you care to study the crow plays a part. Noah sent a crow out to find dry land.....it was too smart to return to that old sailor, so he sent out a dove.....or so we're told...but there is a sub-species of white crows......that's right.....pure white.....but with that same spirit.....that spirit of legend. There are many colour variations of the crow and....the bluejay.....that raucous winter screeecher, is a close relative.

In other traditions the crow is a trickster....or a shapechanger......and in my tradition...my personal tradition.....the crow represents the double edged sword of what others see as a gift but has at times seemed to me to be a curse...art. That creativity......that talent...that sets you apart from the rest of the world......that makes you stand alone. That's what "The Crow Lady" is about......I'll show you that another time.

The large (60" x 40") work below is the first crow painting I ever did.....the seed of all that was to come. I was living in a small village just outside of Cambridge, England.....in a lovely old house set between a sheep farm and an old church......Now because of the sheep and their rather casual approach to chewing and digesting, their droppings where large, generous and everywhere.....this attracted crows.... crows as big as cats.....crows that could take down a rabbit....crows that strutted like gangsters..... I was fascinated by them but didn't understand why as they flocked and cawed back and forth from nest to field, hundreds of them....Then one day I realised they reminded me of the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz......The flying monkeys that had terrified me as a child......Terrified ....Fascinated.....Inspired......... I knew I was on to something.....