Nobel Prize Winner's ties to Mauritius

It was neat to hear that the Nobel prize winner Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio has ties to Mauritius, the island where I was born. This article in The New York Times mentions that his family is from there, and that he divides his time between Nice, Mauritius and Albuquerque. Another article from African Press Agency even mentions that he is dedicating his prize to Mauritius. I imagine it'll be a great boost for the island's tourism industry.

I've read only one of Le Clézio's book, Le Procès-Verbal (The Interrogation) a while ago, and I remember feeling the same disconnection in his main character as when I read Camus' l'Étranger (The Outsider). It's not the kind of book that makes you feel great afterwards, but it does makes you go deeper into yourself and question what life is all about.

It's so inspiring to hear that he is a world traveller, that his experiences living in different countries have guided his writing. I now want to read all his books to understand better why he won the Nobel Prize.

Artwalk 2008 exhibition

I'm gearing up towards my photography exhibition for Artwalk, the St. Clair Arts festival and studio tour. Please drop by to see the show, and taste a chocolate sample.




















A photography exhibition
exploring sensuality through form, movement and texture.
Location: Chocolate Sense, 1129 St. Clair West, Toronto
Time: Saturday September 27, 11- 7 pm, Sunday Sept 28, 12-5 pm

The St. Clair Jazz All-Stars

"Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul" said Plato. I'd like to add that music, and art in all its forms are essential for the nourishment of the soul. They give us a sense of well-being, and connect us with the deeper part of ourselves. So, here's an opportunity to feel terrific: A fun evening with many talented musicians while raising money for Artwalk, a festival to celebrate art, music, and writing.

Artwalk, the St.Clair Arts Festival and Studio Tour presents The St. Clair Jazz All-Stars, a fundraiser featuring some of the hottest jazz St.Clair has ever heard.

KEVIN TURCOTTE trumpet
KENNY KIRKWOOD saxophone
MEIRION KELLY trombone
ROBI BOTOSS piano
ARTIE ROTH bass
DANIEL BARNES drums
BEN D'CUNHA vocalist

Thursday, September 25th, 2008, 7 - 9:15 pm
St. Matthews United Church.
729 St. Clair Ave West

Tickets: $30.00 general admission

On sale at www.ticketweb.ca or Ellington Café,
805 St. Clair Ave. West

The 2008 St.Clair Arts Festival and Studio Tour takes place the weekend of September 26 & 27. For more info click here

Art Festival on St.Clair

I volunteered to help with Artwalk, the St.Clair Arts Festival and Studio Tour. And as usual it's taking much more of my time than anticipated. I thought I'd learned over the years not to offer my time when I'm already swamped, but I seem unable to resist the pull of a worthy cause. In this case, to help artists show their work, and bring a creative flair to the atmosphere of my neighbourhood.

If you're a Toronto artist, you can apply online The deadline has been extended to August 15th.













Photo taken at The Brick Works, a large expanse of nature, a little oasis within the city. I feel like this waterlily right now, keeping my head above water, but flourishing nevertheless.

Ma pensée, c'est moi

"Ma pensée, c'est moi: voilà pourquoi je ne peux pas m'arrêter. J'existe par ce que je pense ... et je ne peux pas m'empêcher de penser."

La Nausée, Jean-Paul Sartre

My thought is me: that is why I can't stop. I exist by what I think ... and I can't restrain myself from thinking.

Article in Le Week-End

Pamela de St. Antoine, the Washington correspondent for the Mauritian newspaper Le Week-End wrote an article on Mauritians living in Toronto. You can read it online this week if you click on the America section.

As an artist, it's normal to expose oneself through one's ideas and artistic expressions, but in this article I feel more exposed than ever. Pamela is a good reporter, and has a talent for obtaining information, and I'm only too willing to talk. Even though I'm not that keen in having my private life in focus, I don't mind the discomfort if the article inspires the Mauritian community in a positive manner. And how could I say no to Pam? We've been online friends for a long time. Her enthusiasm, warmth, and sense of humour made it easy for us to connect. I felt as if I had known her forever when we took the ferry and walked on a grey, misty, spring day along the empty boardwalk of Centre Island, talking and talking, thrilled to share similar interests in people, travel, writing, food ... There were many magical moments and lots of laughter.

Bev's art exhibit: dirty pictures ...

Bev is a friend from way back when we were studying fashion design at Ryerson. Over the years, I lost touch with most of the Ryerson girls. But she dropped by regularly, once a year, when I used to sell my handpainted silk scarves at the One of a Kind show, and I was very touched by her kindness. She is a talented artist I've always admired. Hope you can make it to her show opening.

Le jour en feu

"Mon âme éternelle,
Observe ton voeu
Malgré la nuit seule
Et le jour en feu."

Extrait du poème Faim, Oeuvres Poétiques par Arthur Rimbaud

My eternal soul
follows your wish
but the night is lonely
and the day on fire.

The meaning of emotions

Last week I went with Suzanne to hear Gerry Cupchik talk about the meaning of emotions at Timothy's Café. Gerry is a psychology professor, a friend who describes himself as energy, and loves a good discussion. In the relaxed setting of the café, Gerry talked with conviction, hands making arabesques in the air, body and facial expressions totally engaged to seduce the audience with his ideas.

Even though it took a lot of concentration to get past the psychological jargon, I enjoyed the talk as I've always been fascinated by the intricacies of mind and emotions. I was intrigued when he talked about how the Eastern view of body and emotions is "one within the other" while the Western view is "one outside the other". And I totally got it when he talked about how artists relate emotionally and intellectually to their work, combining sensory qualities with representational meanings. You can read more about his theories on emotions here. He was a finalist in TVO's Best Lecturer competition, and you can learn more about him in this video.

After the talk, Suzanne and I had a long chat about emotions while eating fish and chips at Fran's. Suzanne is a friend I love going out with on little cultural adventures in the city as she has a wonderful enthusiasm for learning, and is always ready for a challenge and a good laugh.

Chalkers

Went to Chalkers on Thursday night. Lynda had invited me to listen to the Jazz Jam. She was singing.

I've known Lynda for many, many years. We've helped each other when we were new mothers. We lose touch at times, caught up in our own worlds, but our friendship seems patient, ready to blossom whenever we meet. Lynda is a lawyer, and it was hard to think of her as a singer. I knew she was creative. I had seen her, paintbrush in hand, making dinosaurs roam along the walls of her children's room, but I had never heard her sing. When she took the microphone, and belted, I've got you under my skin, the full range of her voice undulated, softened, burst into an emotionally charged rendition of this classic song, and I was totally enthralled. Way to go, Lynda. If you happen to be at Chalkers on a Thursday night, listen to the sultry voice, and you'll know it's Lynda's.

A leap in the void

Got so caught up with photography that I had to put writing aside for a while. Wondering whether my multitasking abilities are weakening. Or maybe I just can't take more than one leap at a time when facing the void. According to this quote which a friend recently read to me from Anne Bogart's book, A Director Prepares: Seven Essays on Art and Theatre, "Every creative act involves a leap in the void."

I took a wild leap with Canadian Men Revealed and I'm relieved the landing wasn't that hard. I landed on a cloud, perhaps a bumpy one, but I'm still floating with the positive feedback while learning a lot about what I could improve. Now that I'm back to writing, I feel as if I'm ready to jump from a plane, parachute attached, knees wobbly, mind vacillating from fear of falling and thrill of flying. I'm still standing there looking down. I need a gentle push. Aaaaaahhhhhh h h h h ...

Thanks, thanks, thanks

Thank you to the 80 to 100 guests who came to the opening of my photo exhibition Canadian Men Revealed. Thank you for your warmth, your support, and your encouragement. It was wonderful to see smiles on everybody's face, and then their deep concentration as they went through each photo to guess the right profession and ethnic/cultural background. And it was so much fun to hear the light-hearted exchange of information between guests. The hors-d'oeuvres were delicious, especially the crispy, melt-in-your-mouth, noodle-wrapped shrimp. Thanks to Tony Merante and the terrific staff at Regal Heights Bistro.

A special thanks to Terry Fallis for coming to the show opening despite his busy schedule and the euphoria of winning the Stephen Leacock Medal for his self published book The Best Laid Plans. For more info, check his blog.

For those who could not make it to the opening, the show is on until May 31st. Please, drop by Regal Heights Bistro, 1079 Lauder Ave.. Hours: Tues-Fri 5:00 pm-11:00 pm/close, Sat & Sun 11:00 am-11:00 pm/close, Monday closed.

Canadian Men Revealed

Who is the Canadian man? Without the trappings that mark his station in life, can you tell the firefighter from the architect? Is his ethnicity skin deep? Peggy Lampotang presents portraits of men without their shirts. She invites us to look past his clothes, past his skin, to guess his profession and ethnic background in this suggestive documentation which attempts to reveal his special place in our history. Best guesses win prizes.

Photography by Peggy Lampotang
Exhibition: May 1 - 31, 2008
Regal Heights Bistro
1079 St. Clair Avenue West at Lauder, Toronto
Tel: 416-651-2109

Opening Reception: Saturday May 3rd, 3:30 -6:30 pm

This exhibition is part of Contact Photography Festival


Note: During my last photo exhibition (August 21/06 posting), a few friends from my karate club said, "What about photos of me?" How could I resist such an offer? I admire beauty in nature, every form of it, and people have always been one of my main interests. But I wanted to go past physical beauty and explore other elements, like how do we define the Canadian man? This is an invitation to view the results, have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, and lots of fun with the guessing challenge.

Anatomy of Love

I'm reading Anatomy of Love by Helen Fisher. It's fascinating, the numerous researches that have been done in the name of love. From Jean Henri Fabre's experiment with the female moth's "invisible secretion from her distended abdomen – a 'pheromone', the smell of which had attracted suitors from a mile across the countryside" to a study of how "we feel infatuation when neurons in the limbic system, or emotional core, become saturated or sensitized by PEA (phenylethylamine, a substance in the brain that causes feelings of elation, exhilaration, and euphoria) and/or other brain chemicals."

It's riveting to have love dissected and explained in scientific terms. It grounds us into reality, shakes up our romantic fantasy. Not that I'm now inclined to say, "The neurons in my limbic system are saturated by chemical reactions to your presence." Even though I don't agree with all her theories, it's certainly thought-provoking, Helen Fisher's conviction that love among couples lasts about four years, the time it takes to raise infants, then boredom settles and the search for another partner starts again - all this based on the premise that we still carry in us primitive, cavemen-type instincts when searching for love, or to put it more bluntly, a mate: woman looking for security, and man looking for fertile womb to bear children.

Taking or leaving what suits you, this book does offer some insights. It helps put some order and perspective if you're struggling to understand complicated emotions about love. It attempts to explain Blaise Pascal's saying: "Le coeur as ses raisons que la raison ne connait point." - The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of. It's wonderful to be enlightened by all that scientific stuff, but I still find the poetry and mystery of love more alluring.

Happy Chinese New Year

Today there's a new moon. It's the first day of Chinese New Year. Just like the first day of January, Toronto is covered in snow. Every rooftop, tree, sidewalk is white, a smooth white that leaves one breathless. By the end of the day, there is a white mist hovering over the city, giving it a sad, romantic look as if couples should hug and kiss in this white landscape to complete a perfect picture.

I haven't done anything to celebrate the new moon. I've lost the little bit of Chinese culture that my parents tried to teach me. This is perhaps the casualty of generations immigrating and immersing in new cultures. Or perhaps the melding of an increasingly global society. I feel as if I don't belong anywhere and yet I belong everywhere. Toronto has that ability to make you feel that way, with its multicultural mosaic, its openness and acceptance, the way everybody seems to have a connection to another country whether it's Ireland, Israel, or India.

I still have the evening left to celebrate Chinese New Year. This is what I will do: I will make some Chinese rice crackers for my children. And I will dance and sing love songs to the moon.

The family

I'm reading Don DeLillo's book, White Noise, and love his writing, the way he describes people, events, thoughts, with original imagery while always digging deeper at the meaning of everything in life. I'm quoting a few words he puts in the mouth of a professor who spews out ideas continuously, and reminds me of manic, neurotic Woody Allen.

"The family process works toward sealing off the world. Small errors grow heads, fiction proliferate … Not to know is a weapon of survival ... Magic and supersitition become entrenched as the powerful orthodoxy of the clan. The family is strongest where objective reality is most likely to be misinterpreted." Don DeLillo - White Noise

I see an element of lucidity in this comment which at first seems distorted. It makes one certainly ponder about the family unit, about how it's gong to survive in this century. It's already moved from the extended to the nuclear family. And now we hear of families as dysfunctional, and divorcing, splitting into even smaller units while raising children in a creative array of domestic combinations. Does the strong family unit really create its own limited world, and promote ignorance to survive in this increasingly knowledge-bound world? I think it's a bit over-simplified but there's something there worth thinking about.

Wishing you a great holiday

It's upon us already, the holiday rush. I'm not complaining. I love parties, catching up with family and friends, and the overall warmth and good feelings that spread through year-end celebrations.

Last week, I went to Scratch Gallery's and Laluque Atelier's show openings, and was totally inspired by the talented artists' knitted shawls, hats, jewellery, hand-painted t-shirts, ceramics, fibre art and paintings. Great places to buy presents.

Pamela de St. Antoine, a friend who lives in Washington, and writes for the Mauritian newspaper, Week-End, sent me an article she wrote about the Broadway play, Mauritius. It's cool to have the island where I was born featured in a Broadway play even though the play is really more about Mauritius' valuable stamps. You can read Pamela's article here.

Doesn't it feel as if millions of things keep charging at us before we can relax and enjoy the holidays? Hope you're having fun and not letting the shopping madness get to you. Wishing you all a wonderful time with family and friends and all the best for 2008.

Contre vents, marées et étoiles

".. nul ne t'a fait évader et tu n'en es point responsable. Tu as construit ta paix à force d'aveugler de ciment, comme le font les termites, toutes les échappées vers la lumière. Tu t'es roulé en boule dans ta sécurité bourgeoise, tes routines, les rites étouffants de ta vie provinciale, tu as élevé cet humble rempart contre les vents et les marées et les étoiles. Tu ne veux point t'inquiéter des grands problèmes, tu as eu bien assez de mal à oublier ta condition d'homme."

Terre des hommes - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

"... no one has helped you to escape, and you're not responsible for this. You found your own peace by blinding with cement every crevice that opened to the light, just like termites do. You rolled yourself into middle-class security, routines, the suffocating rites of provincial life, you set up a humble wall against winds, tides and stars. You don't want to think of larger problems, you find it hard enough to forget your condition."

I'm dedicating this translation to a friend who once quoted this passage to me because it described so well how he felt about his life. I could not comprehend why he let his talents go to waste, and tried to revive the artist in him. But I went about it with too much enthusiasm, and shook up too many things that were deeply buried for too long. He has withdrawn into his own world. Friendships are so fragile at times. It is especially sad for me to lose the connection with a friend who shared such similar artistic affinities. But I've learned to let things be because happiness is a constantly evolving state, and he made his choices accordingly, to find his own peace. I wish him the best.

A weekend at Judy's farm

We trekked, prowled through acres of farmland
past stretches of pasture, into the forest,
marvelled at the moss, and quartz, granite
scattered among fallen leaves, then went down
towards the lake, watched seagulls fly.
In the woodstove, flames crackled and danced,
I'm your man, Leonard claimed, so we pranced,
feet moved, arms stretched, hips followed,
minds roamed for comfort, dreams unfulfilled
resurfaced, stirred the rawness of untouched land.
The night was black but when we looked up,
stars glittered, sequins on a swath of velvet sky
in the distance, the eerie hoot of an owl,
a still silence, no neighbours, the city so far
a conditioned presence coated with fear.
I woke up to an orange glow by the window
the morning sun stroking the farm.
Cayotes howled, breaking the calm of dawn
but the light called, pulled me from bed,
and out in the cold I strolled.

Memories and losses

October has been a busy month. I've been painting silk scarves for stores for Christmas. It was wonderful to be in Montreal last weekend, to indulge in the joie de vivre of a city that makes fun a priority. Strolls through McGill's campus, and Vieux Montréal, delicous dinners around lively Rues St. Denis and Duluth, martinis at Maison du Jazz listening to Michelle Sweeney's soulful voice, and even late night dancing.

But on coming back, sad news: A friend's mother as well as a friend in his early fifties passed away. I was sad for my friend's mother but even sadder for the friend I knew as a teenager. Memories unfurled as if from a reel that had been long forgotten. He was kind, self-effacing, a good listener, always ready to help. I remember getting a ride from him on his mobilette, carefree, hair blowing in the wind, zipping towards the beach to meet our group of friends. After losing touch for a long time, I met him and his wife this year when I went to Mauritius. He was an accountant with a soft heart, unable to take money from friends he knew couldn't afford it. It's hard to accept that his life has been cut short so suddenly, to imagine his wife and children's searing loss.

"Le souvenir, c'est la présence invisible." Victor Hugo
Memory is an invisible presence













A lone seagull at Place des Arts, Montreal

Friends

Isn't life beautiful? A few days ago, it was grey but when my friend Judy phoned, everything suddenly brightened. We walked down the damp street for a cappuccino at a café and on the way there, livened up the sidewalk discussing how we can deal with piranhas by shaking them roughly off our legs. And at Nuit Blanche on Saturday night, Suzanne and I joined the carefree atmosphere, meandered through crowded streets, a sense of adventure and wonder keeping us alert and hopping from alien crash site to haunted house. And for my show's opening reception, all these wonderful friends, so ready to share a good laugh, a kind thought. Friends are such great blessings.

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."
Anais Nin

Toronto Upstairs

An invitation from Sidespace Gallery for Toronto Upstairs, a show I'm also taking part in.

Photo & Writing © Schuster Gindin

September 20 – October 25, 2007

Opening Reception Thursday, Sept. 20, 7 – 9 pm

Up here along the Davenport ridge, our topography is unique. We are Toronto's upstairs.

Davenport Road was originally a pathway formed along the shoreline of Lake Iroquois which began to recede 12,000 years ago. Along this, the oldest pedestrian route in the city, several little-known staircases take us up to the residential neighbourhoods adjacent to St. Clair Ave. Climb the steps at Glenholme, Via Italia, Hillcrest Park, Earlscourt Park or Spadina. At the top, turn around and you can see across the whole downtown and city skyline, built on the ancient seabed, to Lake Ontario. These public access points along this high escarpment allow all of us to savour our location.

Our stairways link up and down in the city. They afford pedestrians a ceremonial sense of arrival as we surmount the steps, and of immersion as we descend.

In Toronto Upstairs, thirteen artists will explore the staircases leading up from Davenport Road as transitional space, and contemplate and express the upness of here.

1080 St. Clair Ave. W. www.sidespacegallery.com

Feminine Mystique

Feminine Mystique

A study of women in watercolors, sketches and photographs
by Peggy Lampotang

September 27 to November 30, 2007

Join us for opening reception: Thursday, September 27, 5:30 - 7:30 pm
Regal Heights Bistro, 1079 St. Clair Ave West at Lauder

Paris

We rented an apartment in Paris for a week. It was a few minutes walk from the Latin quarter and we hung out there a lot, in the cafés, bistros, bookstores, by the bouquinistes along La Seine. Paris is the kind of place where you can let your feet guide you and no matter where you are, history pulls you in. Here, in front of Victor Hugo's house, there, the hotel where Oscar Wilde died. You let yourself drift and a delicious surprise welcomes you at every corner. One day, as we strolled behind Notre Dame, we heard the plaintive notes of a saxophone. A band was setting up. A dark man with a Tati bag stopped, a grey-haired couple, holding hands, took tiny steps towards a bench, a young woman slowed down and wrapped her boyfriend's arm around her waist. They all silently moved closer. I leaned against a tree and watched the theatre of life unfold. A quiver of an eyebrow. A bent head. A humming. A tap of the feet. A caress. A sigh. The rhythm, at times fitful, at times melancholic, reached deep within the private drama of each spectator. The musicians felt the connection, and rode on its wave. That's what I love most about Paris, those little incidents of spontaneous connections.

The true voyage

Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux.

Marcel Proust

The true voyage of discovery is not to seek new lands but to see with new eyes.

Heaven and Earth

In your own bosom you bear your heaven and earth and all you behold; though it appears without, it is within.

William Blake

So many things to do

So many things to do and so little time. At the insistence of Tony Bolla, a man dedicated to bringing his community together, I've written articles about art exhibitions and artists on mystclair.com, a website that Tony created to inform residents about events, restaurants, businesses, artists, etc. in their neighbourhood.

I wish I could stretch time, wish it were sort of elasticized. As an advocate of renewable energy, I volunteered in a committee that plans to install solar sculptures on a small stretch of St.Clair Ave. West. I'm still somewhat involved with WISE (West Toronto Initiative for Solar Energy). If you want to use solar energy to reduce your household's dependency on air-polluting, coal-fired plants, check this site. It's such a thrill to see communities eager to clean the earth. We are so bombarded with news of wars, terrorism, murders, incurable diseases, decadent greed etc., that the future seems doomed, eager to self-destruct. And I despair when problems are not dealt with at the roots but with the bureaucratic superficiality of let's-spend-a-few-millions-on-research to-confirm-what-the-problem-is, or let's-throw-a-pile-of-money-in-this-project-to-calm-people-down, or other inefficient initiatives geared towards political and financial gains rather than the well-being of people and the earth we live on. Fortunately, human nature comes with built-in optimism, and rather than dwell on the depressive state of things over which we're helpless, we do take steps to change things and make the world seem wonderful again. Finding time to dedicate to one's beliefs is the challenge.

I'm trying to stretch time while working on an exciting photo project, writing short stories, painting on paper rather than silk. But summer is clamouring for attention, from neighbourhood street party to rampant garden screaming to be tended, not to mention the lure of coffee breaks and lunches on sidewalk cafés with the sun winking through leafy greens. And, yes, the kids are out of school, and the gravitational pull of motherly love makes me feel like those rock debris that form a ring as they madly circle certain planets. And those are just a few reasons why I can't keep up with this blog.

Peonies from my garden. A great summer to all!

Trouver du nouveau

"Nous voulons, tant ce feu nous brûle le cerveau,
Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu'importe?
Au fond de l'Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau!"

Les Fleurs du Mal - Charles Baudelaire

Such a fire burns our brain,
we want to plunge in an abyss,
who cares if it's heaven or hell,
in deep unknown to find the new.

Luminato

We took the Art Boat from Harbourfront to the Distillery District. In the middle of the lower deck, an artist was painting a dark landscape on a canvas larger than herself. There was a light breeze, enough to let your hair blow in the wind and feel carefree. A singer crooned Moon River. The woman in the photo mimed and coaxed us into dancing. When we docked. large shipping containers were lined on arid brown soil, against a backdrop of grey steel and asphalt. Upon closer inspection, each ribbed-metal container was the size of a small room, and displayed creative videos, sculptures with fluorescent lights, and other multimedia artwork. We crossed the highway, and walked under the bridge towards the Distillery. The huge brick buildings, where whiskey was distilled in the 1860's, have kept their ancient allure. History reverberates thoughout. It is almost palpable when the soles of your shoes adjust to the uneven contours of cobblestones, and you slow down as if moving back in time. A whiff of old Montreal. Jazz bands and singers, scattered around the site, filled the air with wistful melodies. The crowd milled about happily. It was fantastic to see creativity, in all its forms, accessible to a larger public. Food for the soul.

A friend had an extra ticket to see Gore Vidal interviewed by Adam Gopnik at the Elgin, so I tagged along. Toronto seems starved for culture during Luminato events. The line up to see this writer was so long that it wrapped around the block. Mr. Vidal was on a wheelchair but it didn't stop him from being his witty, perspicacious, arrogant yet self-deprecating, gossipy and opinionated self. It's interesting to hear him talk about U.S., his own country as being a liar that always acts in bad faith and hides behind a cloak of invisibility. And he calls Canada, Lady of the Snows ...

Quantum Healing

I'm reading Deepak Chopra's book about healing the body through the mind. It's really neat to speculate on the intricate power of the brain. I'm not the science oriented type, but somehow this book makes synapses and dendrites seem like little friendly guys roaming in one's head. I like his simple descriptions, like this one, "The material body is a river of atoms, the mind is a river of thought, and what holds them together is a river of intelligence." What Mr. Chopra is trying to prove, taking into consideration the fact that 2% of terminal cancer and aids patients have been able to defy science with miraculous, spontaneous remissions, is that we all have in us the power to cure our sickness, but we don't know how to access the intelligence which guides that power because science sees the mind and the body as separate when it comes to healing. I've been thinking a lot about the mind's healing power lately as I know so many people with cancer, some very close to me. I have a hard time believing that we can cure ourselves of cancer without medical intervention, by just empowering our intelligence to pass the right messages to our cells. But I do think that those who believe in the ability of the mind to heal are more empowered and positive in the way they deal with cancer. And who knows, maybe those positive vibes do stop the cancer from spreading further.
















Art Moderne at The Carlu, College Park


On a brighter note, Toronto is bustling with activity. Doors open was fun. Last weekend, Suzanne, Yolande and I felt like tourists in our own city. Suddenly the sculptural details at the top of College Park were more visible, and the limestone carvings on the Legislative Building at Queen's Park were precious works of art previously ignored. The Luminato Festival, a celebration of arts and creativity, covering everything from film, dance, music to literature, is on from June 1 -10.























Legislative Building, Queen's Park

Victoria day

Victoria day has zero meaning for me except that it's the long weekend to safely start planting - no more frost. The sun was shining through the weekend but then, it hardly touched my skin. I was in my studio writing or rather pretending to write because there are of course so many distractions, like having to cook and eat, and oh yes, I do have a family that needs me. But then from my window, these little bursts of fireworks, some really sad ones with little dots of light that fizzle in the air, and larger ones that splash away cheerfully and keep asking for attention, especially the ones that sprinkle a shower of colours against the black sky. Torontonians with even a dab of pyromania are going crazy as it's not illegal to light up the sky this weekend. And here I am, writing this blog, another excuse not to finish up my short stories. What's that saying again? Procrastination is the thief of time - I totally empathize. Thief, thief, thief, let me get down to work, find the perfect dialogue to bring life to this unsinpiring character who is blocking the flow of my story. By the way, did you hear about Contact , the photography festival that's all over Toronto this month ... I could go on and on ... here's the thief again. Okay, got to go.

La parole humaine

"La parole humaine est comme un chaudron fêlé où nous battons les mélodies à faire danser les ours, quand on voudrait attendrir les étoiles."

Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

Human speech is like a cracked cauldron on which we drum rhythms that would make bears dance, when we'd rather romance the stars.

Virtual identity

Last night, we sat on the red velvet seats of old-fashioned Royal Alex to watch E-dentity. Fascinating slices of insight into the internet savvy generation. The whimsical visual effects (projection of computer images on a clear background so they seem to hover in the air, and even interact with the actors) adds to the show's impact in making us feel the insidious way the internet infiltrates every part of our lives. This show takes us into the complicated virtual world in which imagination fills the gaps and twists reality to satisfy basic needs for warmth, friendship, and even sex (ever heard of remote control touch with a computer device?). Very interesting ... It's a brilliant show from which we leave with millions of questions and a nagging feeling of having witnessed a phenomenon that's happening so fast and on such a global scale that we still can't grasp its repercussions.

Compensation

Compensation

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears

Poems - Emily Dickinson

New York

New York during Easter weekend. A constant buzz along 5th and 6th Ave. Times Square is out of control. LED screens jump and flash from every corner. We walk and walk, away from the crowd. Hell's kitchen is an eclectic neighbourhood: boarded up windows filled with graffiti, nouveau chic restaurants and quirky ones where you can eat chicken quesadilla from old vinyl records, or sip your drink surrounded by rhinestone-studded crowns. Hotel rooms are ridiculously expensive. Food isn't cheap either but if you dig around, there are neat restaurants at reasonable prices, and there's this thing about two-for-one martinis you can't escape from. On the sidewalks, vendors peddle at dirt cheap prices, cashmere scarves, copies of Dolce & Gabbana bags, unnecessary accessories one can't afford at Saks. It's a city that thrives on people, intense, stimulating, a city for all.

The highlight at MoMA is a video installation by Pipilotti Rist, Swiss artist: A woman in a diaphanous pale blue dress and red shoes walks in slow motion along a street while a field of flowers is projected on the adjacent wall. A soft, plaintive music sets a sensual mood as she moves her legs and holds in her hands what looks like a stick with a flower-shaped tip. She smiles happily. Then she smashes the window of a car, clearly enjoying it, the naked release of emotions on her face kind of compelling. The complexity of human nature in full action. The video taunts us into looking at the moral dilemma within us, shattering our preconceptions. What line can we cross? This man looks on, thinking, wondering ...

Islands have allure

© Paul Comarmond

My friend Paul Comarmond has been diligently working on his watercolours and will be showing them at Regal Heights Bistro, 1077 St Clair Avenue West, Toronto. Be ready to party on opening night, Tuesday, May 1st, 2007 from 6 pm.

L'homme dans la nature

"Car enfin, qu'est-ce que l'homme dans la nature? Un néant à l'égard de l'infini, un tout à l'égard du néant, un milieu entre rien et tout."

Pensées - Blaise Pascal

After all, what is man in nature? Nothing when facing infinity, everything when facing nothing, the middle between everything and nothing.

Lin Fengmian

I want to share with you this site that my cousin Philip set up for our uncle Lin Feng Mian, an amazing artist whom I discovered in the last years, but much too late as he passed away in 1991. Being an artist myself, the immediate affinity I felt for his paintings was uncanny, as if I've known him forever, as if there's a little part of him in me somewhere that I just can't figure out yet. Through a few simple strokes of the brush he seems to magically evoke beauty, grace, sadness, peacefulness and a wide range of emotions, as you can see in these two paintings of his.




Images courtesy of Philip Lim, creator of Lin Feng Mian site

French, English: Pourquoi pas?

The article I wrote for the Globe (if you can't read it online, it's in my August 2005 blog posting) seems to have a life of its own. It's just been published in an educational book called Refining Reading writing-Essay Strategies for Canadian Students. My essay is in unit 4 under comparison and contrast and it's about how bilingualism can engender comprehension and tolerance between French and English Canadians. This subject tends to get passionate reactions: Praise for its inspiration but also negative comments from some Quebeckers and English Canadians from the West because of my mentioning the name Trudeau. I suppose it's a subject that leaves much to reflect upon, one of the reasons the article was chosen for this book. I'm thrilled about being published in an educational book, even though the momentary euphoria has subsided and I'm already back to work on my short stories.

C'est intéressant que cet article (vous pouvez le lire sur ce blog; août 2005 mais en anglais car je ne l'ai pas traduit en français) a déclenché des débats passionnés et parfois négatifs du côté des Québécois et des Canadiens anglophones de l'Ouest qui n'aiment pas Trudeau. Mais en revanche, beaucoup d'autres trouvent que l'article est une inspiration et ça leur donne envie d'être bilingue. L'article est tout simplement sur le biliguisme, comment ça peut aider à apprécier les différences entre les Canadiens anglais et français, et enfin, être plus tolérants l'un envers l'autre. C'est un sujet qui fait certainement réfléchir. Je suppose que c'est pourquoi on l'a choisi pour être publié dans ce livre. Je suis ravie d'avoir été publiée. Et maintenant que l'euphorie s'est déjà évaporée, il est temps de reprendre le travail sur mes nouvelles.

L'amour

"La vie est un sommeil, l'amour en est le rêve,
Et vous auriez vécu si vous aviez aimé."

Poésies - Alfred de Musset

Life is a sleep in which love is the dream,
And you've lived if you have loved.

Dance by Night

I'm participating in a fundraising for breast cancer and will dance on Saturday April 28th in support of relatives and friends who have fought or are fighting breast cancer.

If you want to support this cause, your money will go towards purchasing a digital mammography machine at Toronto Sunnybrook Regional Cancer Centre. Any small amount helps in improving the chances of women beating breast cancer.

Please don't feel obligated. I know how we're bombarded with requests for donations every day and it can be tiring because our $$$ can only go so far. But if you do feel like it ...

To donate online, please go on this site.

And if you want to be one of the participants and have fun dancing and raising money, please go on this site and click Register to Dance by Night.

Comics

A comic book's visual dimension is fascinating not only in the immediate gratification of its artwork, but also in the passionate intensity it brings out in the reader. When I was seven years old, my brothers introduced me to Blek, my first comic book superhero, a French trapper clad in tight pants, fur vest and raccoon hat. I lived in breathless suspense as he overpowered English soldiers with his bulging muscles and his expletives, "mille castors" (a thousand beavers) or "mille putois puants" (a thousand stinking skunks). I remember waiting impatiently for the next issue to arrive in the mail, eagerly flipping each page, listening to its crisp sound, inhaling with relief the smell of fresh print. But as I grew older, comics became a quick diversion rather than my main source of reading material.

I regained interest in the creative art form of comic books through Lovern Kindzierski, my sister-in-law's husband - yeah, we're all sort of connected within one or two degrees of separation these days. He is a passionate comic book lover who has transformed his obsession into professional excellence as a colorist and a comic book writer. He's worked on famous superheroes such as Tarzan and Conan, and is currently working on Code, a new African American superhero (finally a positive role model of different colour). Lovern is the one in red t-shirt, and of course he's from ... where else but Winnipeg, Canada's unpretentious creative hub. Cheers Pam. :)

WISE

Okay, I've sobered up a bit, got the languid tropical weather out of my bones. No residual taste of passion fruit or papaya in my mouth. Good old Toronto's minus 15 chill has slapped me awake. But haven't yet caught up with work or kept up with all the committees I'm involved with.

However, an important organizing committee from which I've slacked off lately is moving forward thanks to dedicated volunteers who have given many many hours of their time to put together a RFP (Request for proposal) to get the best deal possible from contractors to install solar panels in our neighbourhood. There are about 200 of us currently looking into pooling our purchasing power so we can contribute in protecting our environment and saving money by using solar-powered energy to produce electricity and/or to heat water in our houses.

If you're interested in this project, please check WISE (West Toronto Initiative for Solar Energy). We want to spread the word out so many other neighbourhoods can join us, not only in Toronto, but across Ontario, and hopefully the rest of Canada which has been slow compared to European countries like Germany to take an active role in reducing pollution and stopping the depletion of the earth's ozone layer.

Trip to Mauritius

I'm back but operating in slow motion, recovering from jetlag and too much fun. It started with pounding waves from the tail end of a cyclone.













The weather calmed down but for me it was a continuous barrage of sensations rediscovering Mauritius, the island where I was born, and reconnectiing with relatives, friends, and the exotic landscape. With the awareness of a camera in hand, every corner I turned seemed to offer images for thought.

People are so approachable, warm, and friendly along the coastal villages. They live with so little and yet seem so content and happy. I wanted to feel the heart of the island through its fishermen, its children and the people who make it tick, and wished I could spend more time learning their way of life.













To appreciate the two extremes of the island fully, I spent a couple of days in the pampered environment of a luxury resort. However, it takes only a few days to indulge in such decadence: freshly cut flowers and champagne to welcome us, thick, fluffy bathrobes and towels, private pool, spa, gourmet buffet, tea served by villa master, etc. After the novelty wears off, it feels more like an artificial paradise, illusory, not in touch with the real world, but it's still an experience not to be missed, especially when snorkelling and discovering underwater wonders. And it's great to know that the island's economy is thriving from European tourists who flock to these amazing resorts that dot the island's coast.

Art Sites

I won't be writing for a few weeks, so here are some sites you may want to check:

To sieve through the deluge of internet info, I speed read, and try hard to concentrate on what's relevant to me, but sometimes I get caught into such a burst of inspiring work from art sites that I can't quit that easily. Some are there for the purpose of selling artwork, like Paul Comarmond's at Yessy and Charmaine Johnson Putnam's at Absolutearts .

Others are for sharing photos and art, like Philip Lim's gallery at Deviant Art and Mondo's gallery at Flickr . These thrive on a community atmosphere where members write to each other with clever or silly pseudonyms like Elle-est-mental, Waitingforgodot, Hotsauce, Blasphemedsoldier, Surlybratt, etc. Common interests give a feeling of connection and make it fun to exchange photos, writing, and thoughts with members who hail from countries as remote as Estonia and Tibet. Some artists' works, especially in Deviant, are awesome, while others are uninspiring but what a great learning opportunity for everybody! These sites have a way of snowballing and you wonder how much larger they can possibly grow - imagine over 30 million artwork/photos in one site only, and this is only a small fraction of what's availbale on the net.

I'm fascinated by these community sites' easy accessibility to people around the globe one would otherwise never meet unless one travelled extensively. Will virtual encounters replace the need to interact with real people? I personally believe the warmth of human touch is essential to life and cannot be replaced by a computer, but I'm intrigued by the ramifications of online socializing. Anyway, as if my plate isn't full enough, I've taken up the invitation to join and just became a Deviant with this photo gallery, a bit boring so far, but I know it will get much better over time with inspiration and feedback from Deviant artists.

Enjoy these galleries!

Depressing February

There are so many celebrations in February other than Valentine's, namely Chinese New Year, and dance, music and theatre events for Black History month. But I've been sick and haven't gone out much in this freezing weather. There's some respite from this gloom though. Working in my studio isn't so bad. I get to watch snow flakes softly fall, covering the city in white. From the kitchen, I can see the neat shadows that the sun casts on the bright snow in our backyard.

Happy Valentine's

I was waiting for these two birds to get closer. You'd think they'd want to get warm and romantic on this cold day but they wouldn't budge. I guess they forgot it's Valentine's. Wishing you all a wonderful time with your loved ones, but really, why just today, why not every day of the year?

Introducing the book

To give a balance to the heavy philosophizing of Gibran, here's some silly humour which has its own brand of philosophy. Thanks Pam.

Introducing the book

The innate self

Every human being is capable of counterfeit when it comes to his likes and dislikes, and of juggling with his ambitions and bartering his thoughts, but no man on earth is capable of counterfeit with regard to his loneliness or of juggling with or bartering his hunger and thirst. Nor is there a single human being with the ability to reshape his dreams, to exchange one image for another or to transfer his secrets from one place to another. Can what is frail and meagre in us sway the strong and mighty in us? Can the acquired self, earth-bound as it is, induce alteration and transformation in the innate self, which is of heaven?

Love letters - Kahlil Gibran


















Look up and fly into the sky

Orpheus descending

Orpheus descending at the Royal Alex. This Orpheus is Val, a guitar-playing young Southern drifter to whom women are fatally attracted. He is the object of an older woman's desire, and when he finally realizes his love for her, she dies like Orpheus' beloved Eurydice. That's as far as the adaptation of the myth goes. Tennessee Williams' ability to portray people who don't fit into society hits as deeply as the way he analyzes the psyche of mature women, their insecurities, their need to express themselves, blossom, and love, reminding me of the powerful and desperate image of Blanche in A streetcar named desire. I left the theatre with my friends, thinking, not of handsome Val at all, but of passionate Lady Torrance, the feisty, married woman who falls for Val, thrives in her new-found love, shaking loose the constraints of her marriage. We all agreed that Seana Mckenna's performance as Lady, with Italian accent and all, was the best part of the show.

About accidents, chances in life

"Pas même fatal cet accident puisque rien n’est écrit nul part, la vie seulement criblée des hazards de dernière minute, ces petits riens décisifs qui defient présages et prévisions et se rient de nos attentes."
La Petite Chartreuse - Pierre Péju

"That accident wasn't even fatal, because nothing is written anywhere, just life riddled with last minute chances, these little non-decisive situations which challenge speculation and forecasting, and laugh at us as we wait."

I'm quoting Pierre Péju here because of this continuous debate I have with my dear friend C regarding fate. Her belief in fate reminds me of Greek tragedies. That same helpless way that fate controls Oedipus' every action, no matter what he tries to do to stay away from the horrible predictions of the Oracle. Not that I'm 100% with Pierre Péju. I think part of our personality is written in our DNA, over which we have no control. This brings us to the never-ending nature versus nurture debate. Wouldn't it be easier to say it's 50/50 and end all debate there? Our genes and our environment determine equally who we are, and then the rest is within our control. The choices we make in life and the chances we are willing to take are not part of fate. But then, as my friend C would argue, these choices and chances are controlled by genetic predisposition. Vicious circle isn't it? That's why we haven't been able to find a common ground on this. That's when I throw in that genetics don't predict everything because we're surrounded by the last minute chances that Pierrre Péju is talking about, and these are not predetermined. Okay, that's enough debating for today. Early morning fog from my studio.

Illustration of debate: This view is one of the many chances offered to me. I chose to take this photo. Fate didn't determine this. Couldn't resist this, C. Please, don't get mad. We'll continue later. :)

Reservoir Lounge

The Reservoir Lounge on a Saturday evening. Sophia Perlman and The Vipers perform for a packed house. I meet Sophia in front of the mirrors in the washroom. She's friendly, introduces herself and says she sings on Mondays usually, and she's putting on her sophisticated look for the Saturday crowd. Her voice is deep but there is a crispness to it, as if fine fibres of clear sounds are melding into a harmonious whole. On stage, her voice is even more impressive as she erupts into higher notes. She gives a rich lilt to Diamonds on the soles of her shoes.

My friends and I were greeted at the Reservoir door by a flirtatious Rod Stewart look-alike who asked for the cover charge first, then blew kisses. A waiter whose shoulders Suzanne found beautiful, served us tapas, pizza and wine. We danced on the few square feet available with a man nicknamed Mr. Transition by Yolande because of his hmm...interesting life story. Reservoir Lounge bubbles with warmth. Jazz, live music, has a way of doing that. But also, the place is so small that you bump into other people and have to talk to them whenever you take a few steps. I read that celebrities as disparate as Peter O'toole and Prince have been seen there. You can guess the varied range of music lovers. Girls, it was fun.

In memory

In memory of my cousin who passed away a few days ago
I will always remember him as a fine dancer
he moved with such grace and natural rhythm
in the dance halls at family weddings
the only few times I usually met him
and danced with him last in May
I heard about his health and phoned
but his voice was low and weak
so he let the music speak
and held the phone
to the speakers
I listened silent
to the drumbeat
and wished he
could still
dance
but
it was
not
to
be
...
yet ...
maybe
he did dance
his way to heaven

Orbit Room

Went to the Orbit Room on Tuesday night with a friend visiting from abroad. It was her last night in town. We arrived at 10 pm, and wondered whether we should stay. The club looked empty except for half a dozen people. We didn't have the energy to look for another place. And we thought, so what, maybe it's like that everywhere in the city on Tuesday night - good old hard-working Toronto already in bed.

It was awkward to watch a band larger than the audience. You wonder how they feel and whether they're watching you as much as you're watching them. However, by the time the first set was half-way through, the room was packed and nightlife in Toronto was alive and well. One of the musicians, with dreadlocks and a kind, friendly smile came to say hello to us, adding to the warm atmosphere of the place. A guest singer named Serena, blonde with a sweet angelic face, belted out Leonard Cohen's Sisters of Mercy with a Reggae Jazz beat - if you know what I mean - and you could feel her soulful voice going right through your guts. I'm relieved to know that the creative heart of Toronto is beating every night in this club and many others I still have to discover.

Back to writing

Bon, je recommence à écrire. C'est une de mes résolutions pour l'année 2007. Ecrire, écrire et écrire.

Back to blogging. Another year is gone. The phenomena of blogging, YouTube, and other forms of online mass communication is mind-boggling. It's all happening so fast I feel as if I'm part of an army of ants scrambling, typing away at the keyboard to keep up with the cornucopia of information and new experiences. One of which is discovering Peter Cincotti, a jazz singer/pianist that my friend Chris raved about. I'm now hooked on his romantic voice. Can't believe he's only 21 years old.

For photography Andrew's daily blog postings are truly inspiring. His composition and use of lighting, with focus on industrial sites, bring out the awesome beauty of what we would otherwise consider ordinary things. Am I biased because he's Teri's friend? I don't think so. See for yourself the results of his passion and dedication to photography.

Books I've read in the last months that are worth mentioning: Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden is the story of two Cree Indian friends, snipers for the Canadian army during World War I, Sweetness in the Belly by Camilla Gibb is about a white woman's Islamic faith. They both deal with cultural rifts, and a sense of isolation that I find very compelling.

Happy Holidays to all

A gentle morning light on snow-covered countryside. The cold Canadian winter is here and I feel as if I've been swept by an icy gale. Trying to pull myself out of pressures and disappointments. But there's that light, always a little light that brightens things up. Recalling childhood memories with old school friends, dancing away at a Xmas party, listening to jazz at The Rex, the twinkle of teasing eyes, kind words of encouragement, the warm touch of someone who cares ...

Wishing you all a happy holiday season and a wonderful New Year 2007 with family and friends.

Joyeux Noël à tous. J'espère écrire de nouveau après le nouvel an.

International Creole month

Samedi dernier, j'ai passé des moments agréables à parler créole, ma langue maternelle, et à déguster des amuse-gueules créoles, mais j'ai surtout trouvé très intéressant la présentation de Paul Comarmond sur l'esclavage et l'histoire du créole. Pendant le mois d'octobre, le Centre Francophone a plusieurs événements pour célébrer le mois créole et ça se termine avec une grande fête le 28 octobre, Journée Internationale Créole.

During the month of October, the Francophone Centre has a series of events to celebrate Creole month. It all ends with a splash on October 28, International Creole Day. It was fun to speak Creole, my mother tongue and to hear its colourful expressions last Saturday at the Francophone Centre. I enjoyed Paul Comarmond's presentation on how the Creole language was created by slaves speaking French. Paul also talked about the history of slavery. It is heart-wrenching to see pictures of slaves stuck one against another like sardines on ships designed to pack in as many as possible. I cannot understand the perversion of nature when it breeds callous slave traders and business owners who exploit other human beings so atrociously. But then, isn't our society perhaps as guilty in its greed to build wealth without any consideration for the welfare of workers in developing countries? Anyway, if you want to know more about the Creole language and the people who currently speak it, check the Francophone Centre this month.

Toronto's Nuit Blanche

Philosopher's Walk


La vie continue ... j'ai mis de côté le cauchemar. J'ai passé une merveilleuse Nuit Blanche, ou presque car on n'est pas resté jusqu'au lever du soleil. Samedi soir, pour toute la nuit, Toronto était comme une ville qui a changé de robe. Souriants, enthousiastes, les uns se tenant au chaud avec foulards et chapeaux, les autres en tenue décontractée, des gens de tout âge mais surtout des jeunes se promenaient en masse pour écouter des poèmes, voir des films, admirer des peintures, et prendre part à d'autres expressions artistiques d'une ville qui bouillonnait d'énergie créative. Suzanne, ma chère copine, une artiste et érivaine pendant ses moments de loisir, m'a accompagnée dans cette petite aventure. On a été très impressionné et inspiré. Il y a tant d'espoir pour notre belle ville, une ville qui donne de l'importance à la culture et l'art.

Life goes on ... I've put aside the nighmare. We were at Nuit Blanche, tried an all nighter, well ... almost since we did not last to see the sun rise. On Saturday night, Toronto was effervescent with creative energy. Together with a smiling, and enthusiastic, mostly twenty-something crowd, some keeping warm with trendy hats and scarves, others in casual clothes, we listened to the clear, melodious voice of a poet reading about her "brown ass", got pulled into a short movie about the delusions of lost love, gazed at Michael Snow's sheep grazing on the dome of the ROM's planetarium, and slipped on the muddy grass while looking at the mist on Philosopher's walk. Suzanne, my dear friend, an artist and writer in her spare time was a wonderful companion for Nuit Blanche. We were impressed and inspired. There is much excitement and hope for a city which believes in the cultural importance of art.

Art @ Liberty

Image © Art @ Liberty

Busy, busy, busy ... Who isn't in Toronto? The exciting part is we do make things happen in this city. Helped some friends with an art exhibition they're having across the street from where I'm having my photo exhibition of Moody Toronto. Their show is called Art @ LIberty. It's a series of photos, ranging from topiaries to manholes, taken in the St.Clair neighbourhood. It opens today and runs till October 1st. Both our shows will be part of Artwalk, the St. Clair Arts Festival and Studio Tour, between September 29th to October 1st.javascript:void(0)

I love you more than you know

That's the title of Jonathan Ames' book that I just read. He is one funny guy. Disarmingly honest, bent on telling every detail about his scatalogical, sexual, and disease-prone obsessions. He's the kind of guy whose one-track-sex-crazy mind makes you want to slap his face, but then the next minute, he is so tender and loving, you just want to hug him.

La confession d'une jeune fille

Time to get back to writing. That's what this blog is supposed to be all about, anyway. Plus I miss French so much. So here's my translation of Marcel Proust's insightful reflection on the intricacies of a young woman's relationship with a certain Lepré.

Si sa beauté était armée pour le vaincre, son esprit ne l’était pas moins pour le juger; elle était prête à cueillir comme une fleur amère le plaisir de le trouver mediocre et ridiculement proportioné à l’amour qu’elle avait pour lui. Ce n’était pas par prudence! elle sentait bien qu’elle serait toujours reprise dans le filet enchanté et que les mailles que son esprit trop incisive aurait rompues pendant la présence de Lepré, à peine serait-il parti que son imagination industrieuse les aurait réparées.

La confession d'une jeune fille - Marcel Proust

If her beauty was armed to conquer, her mind was equally armed to judge. She was ready to pick, like a bitter flower, the pleasure of finding him mediocre and ridiculous in proportion to the love she felt for him. It was not that she was cautious. She knew that she would always be lured back into the enchanted net, and that the stitches that her incisive mind had cut during Lepré's presence, would always be repaired by her industrious imagination within seconds of his departure.

Thank you so much

Thank you to all the eighty friends and more who came to the photo exhibition opening. It was a great party and it was so much fun to see everybody. Regal Heights Bistro was bubbling with smiles. Thanks Tony and the staff for creating such a magical atmosphere with the friendly service and thanks to chef Chris for the heavenly food. The mushroom ragoût was one favourite melt-in-your-mouth delight. Lots of hugs, kisses, praises, liquor, and delicious hors-d'oeuvres made for a very warm and lively evening. My voice was raw from talking. Short conversations ranged from debates about whether the idealistic wish to serve people in politics inevitably becomes a grasp for power, to new mothers' depression from boredom, and pumping milk like cows, one of the low times in women's lives. Thanks to all those who were impressed enough to buy my photos. Moody Toronto never looked so exuberant. I love you all.

Photo Exhibition

It's a collection of 18 photos showing the different moods of Toronto's skyline, all taken from my studio. The show is on from August 24th to October 1st at Regal Heights Bistro, 1079 St. Clair Ave. West at Lauder. See you there!

Montreal

Toronto is my true love but Montreal is like a secret lover, luring me with the forbidden. What I love about Montreal: It looks you right in the eye, it's got grit, indulges in whatever it wants, screaming matches, uncontrollable laughter, lewd stares, bouncy cleavages, and all. What I saw when I was there: In a park, an athletic young man in t-shirt and shorts seducing a tree with a wild dance, something like a cross between taichi and ballet jazz. A pretty woman in a restaurant going orgasmic with her hands describing something as inconsequential as trying clothes on. A vision in white jumping from the sidewalk, dark hair flying, arms flapping, skirt billowing, singing away in the middle of a street, oblivious of cars that stopped for her. A handsome man with intense green eyes and perfect skin, dangling a cup from a three-foot long stick, saying, "vous avez quelque chose pour moi?" Do you have something for me, he asked. I told him I'd rather get him a job, that perhaps he was an artist. There was creativity and originality in the dog muzzle he used to hold the cup at the end of his stick. These are all the little things that make Montreal so charming. Oh Teri, you're going to enjoy it so much when you move there! And I love your music blog.

Ton souvenir

Ton souvenir est comme un livre bien-aimé,
Qu'on lit sans cesse, et qui jamais n'est refermé,
- Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne?
- Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu'il s'en souvienne?

Fêtes galantes - Paul Verlaine

My memory of you is like a beloved book
That I keep reading and can't ever close,
- Does he remember our old rapture?
- Why do you want him to remember?

Your lynx eyes, Asia

It is your lynx eyes, Asia,
That spied something in me,
Teased it out, occult
And born of stillness,
Oppressive and difficult
Like the noon heat in Termez
As though pre-memory's years
Flowed like lava into the mind...
As if I were drinking my own tears
From a stranger's cupped hands.

Anna Akhmatova - Selected poems - Translated from Russian by D.M. Thomas

Thanks Ann and Brigid for recommending this great poet.

Dinner in our garden

Fifteen of us in the backyard. The grilled eggplant glides in the mouth, a succulent chunk of sealed flavour. It bursts as teeth dig in, then it melts, a sensual journey down the throat. Salads, fresh, crisp, cool the heat. Giggles, glasses of wine half emptied. "With the first child," someone says, "you take the kid to the hospital after a sneeze. With the second one, the kid's arm is twisted, hanging limp and you say, go to bed dear, it will get better tomorrow." Hysterical laughter. The night unfolds. The breeze sweeps away a frown, a pursed lip. Faces, foliage and clematis stars softly outlined by candlelight, look mysterious, yet familiar. Personalities shift in the shadows, searching release. New friendships bubble. Some weave stronger ties. It is a good night.

Ma tristesse

Ne me demande pas d'où me vient ma tristesse.
Ne me demande rien, tu ne comprendrais pas.
En découvrant l'amour, je frôle la détresse.
En croyant au bonheur, la peur entre en mes joies.

Extrait de Retiens La Nuit (Charles Aznavour/Georges Garvarentz) chanté par Johnny Halliday

Don't ask me why I'm sad.
Don't ask me, you won't understand.
When I find love, distress brushes against me.
When I believe in happiness, fear mingles with joy.

Taking photos in Montreal

Montreal was sunny with a cool breeze. Perfect weather to stroll along the cobblestoned streets and take photos with my cousin Philip and his friends Annie and Sébastien. Philip is a photography teacher, the kind everybody loves. His passion for photography, the way he'll enthuse about the quality of light, about lines leading to an object, about how to catch people in a natural pose, makes me want to keep clicking. It is gratifying to practise immediately what I'm learning. As if framing a picture to capture the essence of the moment is a blissful state of wonder.

Reading at U of T

I took all my Leonard Cohen CDs out. Listening to them non stop, even at breakfast one day. R came down, and said, Isn't it a bit early to get depressed? Then he made his voice low and deep, imitating dear Leonard singing In My Secret Life, but with his own words. I'm the poet of doom, I'm sooooo sad, he crooned. R is very funny. That's what I like best about him. Okay, I think it's time to move on to something more upbeat ... to Johnny Halliday, a French singer who is just as romantic and sad, but with more abandon, forceful passion, and despair. I'm such a cheerful one!

Looking forward to visiting one of my favourite cities in Canada. I'll be in Montreal in a few days. Meanwhile the weather is getting warm enough to open the windows of my studio, all five of them, so the dyes don't bother me when I go on a silk painting spree.

I'm so thrilled about getting my creative writing certificate from U of T. It's been an amazing journey. Learning the craft from some of the best writers in Toronto was inspiring. For friends who want to come to the graduation ceremony, it's on Friday, June 9th at 7:00 pm at 158 St. George, just south of Bloor. I'll be reading a short story from my final project.

Leonard Cohen, the aging lover

Yesterday, on Bay, south of Bloor, saw Leonard Cohen read poetry and sing. Worth the 45 minutes wait. That deep bass voice. But I have to admit I wouldn't have waited if I didn't have my friends Suzanne, Julia, and Yolande there chatting with me. The crowd thickened around us so tight that a fleeting sense of claustrophobia made me wonder how I would ever elbow and kick my way out of there, engulfed as we were in this sea of people.

When he appeared on stage, the crowd went wild. I love you, Leonard, a louder voice yelled above the roar. He took the microphone, an aged man with a stoop. He went right into a poem as if he was talking to us, his broody face defined by long bracket lines stretching from his nose down to his lips. The crowd couldn't have enough of this poet. And when he sang So Long Marianne with Barenaked Ladies and Anjani Thomas, a smile creeped onto his serious face, then exploded into youthful vigour, buoyed by the crowd's enthusiasm. You held on to me like I was a crucifix, he belted out. A flash of passion, an intensity, an enlightened feeling passed on to his fans. How superficial the physical decay of aging when exposed to such spirit. I love this man.

Creative vibes in Toronto

Today, I soaked in the creative energy of Toronto. Checked Contact, the Toronto Photography Festival. Loved the public exhibits in St Andrew and St. Patrick subways. The photographers made a strong and dramatic statement by doing a series of photos which repeat similar elements. Gu Xiong's series of portraits, I am who I am, show proud Chinese Canadians, their adaptation to the Canadian culture emphasized by comments written at the bottom of the photos in Chinese, French and English. Stephen Waddell did a series of pedestrians going up and down a set of stairs, and it's amazing to see that something so mundane can bring out the personality and beautiful movements of each person. Stephen Gill's Lost series show people asking or looking for directions. It's extremely effective, the way he captures the expressions and body postures which say it all, giving the familiar feeling of yes, we've been there. Ryerson's collection of historical black and white photos at BCE place are priceless. From Jackie Kennedy to the Civil Rights demonstrations, these photos impress more than history in the mind, they bring out the emotional connection to that time.

Tonight, we went to a poetry reading of Frank Giorno, a friend of R. The Gladstone's long room facing Dufferin Street was packed. The Lyricalmyrical press was launching six poetry books. It's inspiring to hear these talented writers and to see their work in handmade books. They're one of a kind, individually bound in different colours. Fifteen dollars for all that work seems like a bargain. Well, they're only about 20 pages but still. I don't know how small presses like these make money but I admire the publisher Luciano Iacobelli, his dedication to writing and writers. I was surprised to see a book by Bruce Meyer, one of my U of T teachers from four years ago. When I talked to him, all I could think of was this erudite man's incredible knowledge of classical literature, the way it spilled in the class with such enthusiasm that one had to be quick to catch them all. He's written twenty-three books and yet he's going with a small publishing company because he loves the handmade book.

I'm excited about the artistic vibes I feel in Toronto these days, as if creative juices are really churning in this city, their driving force beyond the limitations of financial gains.

Maupassant, the romantic

Elle était charmante ainsi, et dans son regard fuyant mille choses m'apparurent, mille choses ignorées jusqu'ici. J'y vis des profondeurs inconnues, tout le charme des tendresses, toute la poésie que nous rêvons, tout le bonheur que nous cherchons sans fin. Et j'avais un désir fou d'ouvrir les bras, de l'emporter quelque part pour lui murmurer à l'oreille la suave musique des paroles d'amour.

Au Printemps - Guy de Maupassant

She was alluring, and in her evasive look, many things appeared, many things ignored before. I saw in it unexplored depths, the appeal of tenderness, all the poetry we ever dream of, all the happiness that we keep searchng for. And I had a mad desire to take her in my arms, take her somewhere so I could whisper in her ear the sweet music of love.

At the bookstore

I was at Book City today to pick up a copy of the literary magazine, Kiss Machine in which my young talented friend Teri has written a short story titled: A secret handshake for the new world order. It's a touching story about growing up and relationships.

I checked some other books, thinking of how I sometimes like the quietness of bookstores, that sort of hushed religious silence and respect for the written word, but that it's also fun to have some distractions like observing or talking to quirky and interesting people who frequent bookstores. Then, the door flapped open with a waft of cool spring air. An entwined couple walked in. "Mmmhhh, it smells like books here," the young man said, taking a deep breath, his face on his girlfriend's hair. "What do you think, it's a bookstore," she said, pushing him away, cutting through the aisle with firm steps, hip hugging jeans and exposed midriff. They did bring a bit of fresh air in the store.