Do you ever think about truth.....I do.....I learned long ago that it was the one thing without which I could not survive....
And yet I run into it so seldom.
What I run into most, amongst those whom I would, ideally, like to respect, is the willingness to accept bolderized versions of the truth, to make life easier.... but for whom? Well, for themselves of course, details are such a bother and might involve an exchange of ideas and an acknowledgement of equality.....
How can we expect nobility of spirit amongst nations, cultures, religions and races if between neighbours we are able to let ourselves accept as truth that which we know to be false.......
Such pedestrian examples of shameful mediocrity are just not on, as they say in jolly old England.
And as to Trotsky's hat, Milan Kundera tells the story better than I, so I'll leave it to him.......but truth is what that's all about as well.....
Truth is a hat...
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Jimmy Stewart's Not My Dad
D'you know.....I was watching TV th'other night.......and what came on but "Mr Hobbs Takes a Vacation" with James Stewart and Maureen O'Hara.....(you know the one.....I'm sure we've watched it together at some point......) and honestly, I was amazed at how much Jimmy Stewart looked like E.M.!! His gestures....his attitude..... his gangley walk..... HIS HAT!!!!! Do you remember Dad's hat? I couldn't believe it....I almost called the whole fam-damnly.
Mom used to talk about how, as a young man....when Dad was in New York .....or Montreal...or where ever....women would swarm him for his autograph.... and he would give it....after a modest protest. For the thought of knowing that those poor misguided girls would get home, look at their autograph albums and wonder who the hell Warmest Regards E.M Tevlin was was too much to resist and would amuse him for days.
Let's not forget those memories eh!
And of course there was the famous "morning after the Press Club Ball episode" with B.J. accosting the G.R.Y.C. commodore and accusing him of being Peter Ustinov....for whose 2nd or 3rd wife I am named....the one who was with her at the convent and hopped the wall to marry him....which reminds me of the Ursulines and another convent wall that I so narrowly escaped........hmmmmmmmmm......... life's still pretty funny ........and pretty good...........
Mom used to talk about how, as a young man....when Dad was in New York .....or Montreal...or where ever....women would swarm him for his autograph.... and he would give it....after a modest protest. For the thought of knowing that those poor misguided girls would get home, look at their autograph albums and wonder who the hell Warmest Regards E.M Tevlin was was too much to resist and would amuse him for days.
Let's not forget those memories eh!
And of course there was the famous "morning after the Press Club Ball episode" with B.J. accosting the G.R.Y.C. commodore and accusing him of being Peter Ustinov....for whose 2nd or 3rd wife I am named....the one who was with her at the convent and hopped the wall to marry him....which reminds me of the Ursulines and another convent wall that I so narrowly escaped........hmmmmmmmmm......... life's still pretty funny ........and pretty good...........
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......."
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.....
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.....
Monday, June 12, 2006
IN DREAMS
In dreams my father comes to me....oft in disguise, aged, as though he'd never left...an elder .....90ish, stooped and grey....other times, the young boisterous man who, at age 6 or 7, I begged to wait for me, so we could wed....but mostly as the discouraged....vanquished...more than middle aged one he was at last.......he enters my room...and sits by my bed ...and reminds me that I am loved.....
Thursday, May 11, 2006
No Girls Allowed !!!
Long ago and far away, on the back of an old clapboard garage, in our little families little garden, was a sign ....perhaps the first sign I ever read by myself....NO GIRLS ALOWED.....It was posted by my brother, to teach me the ways of the world....
He was helpful, my brother....he also taught me never to be smarter or faster than he one summers morn on the railway tracks, in front of my grandmothers cottage.....I'm still long legged... and my grown-up teeth eventually did appear.....but the lesson was well learned regardless of times ability to heal superficial scrapes....The funniest thing about that summers morn happened decades later when his wife accused me of causing trauma to that poor little blighter of long ago.....for, just like the merchant of venice, I bled....
He was helpful, my brother....he also taught me never to be smarter or faster than he one summers morn on the railway tracks, in front of my grandmothers cottage.....I'm still long legged... and my grown-up teeth eventually did appear.....but the lesson was well learned regardless of times ability to heal superficial scrapes....The funniest thing about that summers morn happened decades later when his wife accused me of causing trauma to that poor little blighter of long ago.....for, just like the merchant of venice, I bled....
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Things I Would Like To Believe
That the reality is still as important as the perception.
That integrity will one day get us as far as opportunism.
That integrity will one day get us as far as opportunism.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Jacob's Dream
The ultimate analogy for the creative spirit, Jacob and his darned angels. Whether struggling up a heavenly ladder with drooping wings (sometimes we forget why we're here).... or wrestling with our very natures in an attempt to finally be like the rest... but it's no good is it..it ain't gonna happen... otherness is part of the whole kit andcaboodle of creation... so DEAL!!!!!
"Otherness" is one of the great challenges of the soul.....a true character builder....remember how our parents used to say difficult situations would "build character"....well, any opportunity to be the outsider.... l'etrangeur...not of the tribe....and the complexity of sensations that goes along with it will give new and interesting insight into the human condition...and that's why we're here, right, to interpret the human condition. Good ol' Jacob...he didn't win.. but he understood.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Le Cyber Café
On the 26th of April, in a darkly dangerous cyber café I tapped out my first message to my friends in T.O......but all is not as it seems....the computor I work on appears to be normal but it won't let me do normal things.....only one letter can be deleted at a time....copy and paste isn't on, and it won't let me check my spelling. Panic rises as I realise how long I'm taking to do simple machinations, dizziness envelopes me.....will I be the first computor casualty of the day?????
Dear Pals,
Well I've been in Paris for just over a week and my gawd it feels good! I have such a feeling of "bien etre" that it scares me and I want to knock on wood at every opportunity. I feel alive!!! And goodness gracious ladies...I exist. The men...let me say that again...THE MEN!!! of Paris are still as gentle and polite and handsome and ATTENTIVE as they have ever been. You feel beautiful just wandering down the street!!! OK, OK... I'll go easy on the exclamation marks. But good golly Miss Molly...I guess I don't look half bad.. at least that's what I see in their eyes. So far I have been out with 2 very nice fellows...one named Alain, don't pronounce the N, I met him on the flight over, he's very lovely, loves Canada and thinks that all Canadians are "fresh air kids", we went to "Louvre Nocturne" how's that for romantique gals, the Mona Lisa by candle light. Then at a dinner party the other evening I met Gilles he wants to go biking this weekend...there's that fresh air again. OOh la la!!!
Everything else is going great guns. The gallery loves my work and I'm already working on some new stuff. And I love my apartment. From one terrace I see the Tour Eiffel and from the other I see L'Invalides. I'm having friends in for lunch on this very same terrace friday and wednesday next so drop by if you're in the neighbourhood.
A bientôt!!!
Dear Pals,
Well I've been in Paris for just over a week and my gawd it feels good! I have such a feeling of "bien etre" that it scares me and I want to knock on wood at every opportunity. I feel alive!!! And goodness gracious ladies...I exist. The men...let me say that again...THE MEN!!! of Paris are still as gentle and polite and handsome and ATTENTIVE as they have ever been. You feel beautiful just wandering down the street!!! OK, OK... I'll go easy on the exclamation marks. But good golly Miss Molly...I guess I don't look half bad.. at least that's what I see in their eyes. So far I have been out with 2 very nice fellows...one named Alain, don't pronounce the N, I met him on the flight over, he's very lovely, loves Canada and thinks that all Canadians are "fresh air kids", we went to "Louvre Nocturne" how's that for romantique gals, the Mona Lisa by candle light. Then at a dinner party the other evening I met Gilles he wants to go biking this weekend...there's that fresh air again. OOh la la!!!
Everything else is going great guns. The gallery loves my work and I'm already working on some new stuff. And I love my apartment. From one terrace I see the Tour Eiffel and from the other I see L'Invalides. I'm having friends in for lunch on this very same terrace friday and wednesday next so drop by if you're in the neighbourhood.
A bientôt!!!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
High Table
I was talking about watersheds yesterday and thought that this would be an interesting painting to show you while I relate an anecdote that pertains to art and creating.....one of the great mysteries of life. The painting is titled India and is 48"x36".
As I said earlier, I've always been a creative.... I've always lived a rich and fanciful inner life.....and often this inner life was thanks to literature. I was one of those kids that spent their childhoods with their noses in books. So, when I was invited to dine at High Table with the Master of one of the Cambridge colleges about 15 years ago, I was beside myself with anticipation at the delightfully erudite conversations I just knew I was going to have with these fellows.
I was seated at the great man's left hand...an enormous honour indeed ........the guest of honour was on his right......the dinner commenced. It didn't take even my dim-witted self long to note that every time I opened my mouth to murmur some clever little observation the Master regarded me with utter astonishment......a bit as though I were a fish playing the piano. The fact that a Canadian female was able to string more that 3 words together in a grammatically correct order was leaving this Oxbridge intello jaw-droppingly awed. It was only later that a friend observed that being the youngest, tallest and "blondest" of the females in attendance, I had been seated next to the demi-god for decorative purposes only.....as my brit-wit friend pointed out, I was the designated, thinking man's "crumpet" for the evening.....placed there to enrich the fanciful imaginings of the surrounding dons and fellows. "You're just a little colonial for God's sake....you're not expected to have a brain!!!!!" exhaled my friend.
So what has this story to do with creativity and the featured painting?? Well, that evening when I returned to my digs, a little the worse for the famous college port on top of the equally famous college wine....I swore on my French Canadian grandmother's soul that I.....who through out her life had always had at least 3 brit-writ novels by her bed....would not read a single book written by a bloody-brit for as long as I lived in England.....in fact I would only read COLONIAL authors!!!!!
And thus began the richest inner life I could ever have wished for.....Indian authors gave way to India travels which....as every creative knows....gave way to Indian influences in my work. The same can be said of China....the Middle East....Istanbul....I've never stopped. That evening changed my life...my art....my thinking.....my themes..(otherness & the positive effects of culture clash).
I guess the man was...if not a bigot....certainly a blinkered, closed minded old sod....and yet it is he that I thank for ricocheting me into a way of thinking about art that will stay with me the rest of my life.
As I said earlier, I've always been a creative.... I've always lived a rich and fanciful inner life.....and often this inner life was thanks to literature. I was one of those kids that spent their childhoods with their noses in books. So, when I was invited to dine at High Table with the Master of one of the Cambridge colleges about 15 years ago, I was beside myself with anticipation at the delightfully erudite conversations I just knew I was going to have with these fellows.
I was seated at the great man's left hand...an enormous honour indeed ........the guest of honour was on his right......the dinner commenced. It didn't take even my dim-witted self long to note that every time I opened my mouth to murmur some clever little observation the Master regarded me with utter astonishment......a bit as though I were a fish playing the piano. The fact that a Canadian female was able to string more that 3 words together in a grammatically correct order was leaving this Oxbridge intello jaw-droppingly awed. It was only later that a friend observed that being the youngest, tallest and "blondest" of the females in attendance, I had been seated next to the demi-god for decorative purposes only.....as my brit-wit friend pointed out, I was the designated, thinking man's "crumpet" for the evening.....placed there to enrich the fanciful imaginings of the surrounding dons and fellows. "You're just a little colonial for God's sake....you're not expected to have a brain!!!!!" exhaled my friend.
So what has this story to do with creativity and the featured painting?? Well, that evening when I returned to my digs, a little the worse for the famous college port on top of the equally famous college wine....I swore on my French Canadian grandmother's soul that I.....who through out her life had always had at least 3 brit-writ novels by her bed....would not read a single book written by a bloody-brit for as long as I lived in England.....in fact I would only read COLONIAL authors!!!!!
And thus began the richest inner life I could ever have wished for.....Indian authors gave way to India travels which....as every creative knows....gave way to Indian influences in my work. The same can be said of China....the Middle East....Istanbul....I've never stopped. That evening changed my life...my art....my thinking.....my themes..(otherness & the positive effects of culture clash).
I guess the man was...if not a bigot....certainly a blinkered, closed minded old sod....and yet it is he that I thank for ricocheting me into a way of thinking about art that will stay with me the rest of my life.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Awaiting The Morning Star
Here's another painting....thanks for the requests, it's nice to know you enjoy them. This work is made with built up medium, music transcript, gold leaf, ancient legal documents, oil paint, guauche, and finally, relief sculpture. The whole thing is on a 5'x4' plywood structure that hangs flush to the wall. This painting was a real watershed for me..it was one of those works that I had to fight with and finally, only after much anguish and frustration, did it show me how it wanted to be. I won't say that its final form came to me in a dream, it was actually during a telephone call that I hadn't wanted to answer...... between my running from the studio to pick up the phone and returning to the studio 5 minutes later everything changed....a bit like Athena springing fully formed from the forehead of Zeus or something.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Did I Mention I Was An Artist?
A lot of what I'm going to talk about will revolve around the fact that I am and always have been an artist....since the age of 2 my father used to say. So to make things a little easier for you I will show you my work from time to time..... This particular image is a triptych, 72"x45". It's centre panel is encaustic..an ancient form of painting with wax and resin, the panel on the left is oil paint on a collage of music transcripts and the last panel is built up and distressed medium. The work is called "Lux Aetaerna" quoth the crow'.
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