Understanding China

Nathan Street, Hong Kong


My first visit to China. A bit of a culture shock that hit right through the heart. Even though I blended easily with the homogenous Chinese population, I felt like an outsider looking in. Partly because I cannot speak the language. Partly because I grew up in a multicultural island and Canada has been home to me for over 30 years. Cities I visited, Hong Kong, Shenzhen, Guangzhou, Shaoguan, and Meizhou, felt like never-ending Chinatowns.

















Danxian Mountain, Shaoguan


With the kind help of relatives and friends who live there, I immersed myself into Chinese lifestyle, eager to feel the pulse of this country. As the trial-by-fire visit progressed over three weeks, it became easier to adapt to the shouting style of talking, lack of concern for aesthetics, different sense of hygiene, and overwhelmingly generous and self-effacing sense of hospitality. Slowly, the essence of Chinese culture seeped in.

In Shaoguan, it was a moving encounter with the family of Siv Lan, a half-sister who moved to China before I was born. I could only communicate with her in Creole while she translated for the rest of us. She and her husband conveyed their joy of seeing me by feeding me all day, taking me shopping, and went out of their way to accompany me to Meizhou.
















Musician in Lychee Park, Shenzhen

Life in China seemed to be all about working, eating and shopping until I witnessed the most exhilarating part of the culture, something that I could finally identify with. In many parks and open spaces, people danced and played music openly, expressing themselves without inhibition. A free form of entertainment and relaxation for a huge middle class society that seemed to be everywhere, on the streets, restaurants, packing trains full, even willing to stand for a 5-hour ride. At times, I felt as if I was in a Fellini-inspired movie.















Dancers in Lychee Park, Shenzhen


Rivers that run through cities like Shaoguan, Guangzhou, and Meizhou infused a soothing, meditative pace against the effervescence of busy streets. And the mountains were awesome, the way they imposed their calm presence against jutting skyscrapers, rice paddies and countryside lush with tropical vegetation. Often shrouded with mist, they spread their ethereal melancholy across the landscape, reaching a part of my soul that yearns to paint flowing watercolours and write sad poems.















Meizhou















Along the Han Jiang River, Meizhou















Rice paddies, Meizhou


The trip was really a sort of pilgrimage to understand my ancestral roots. Even though China is described in details by my father in a story he wrote about his life, it's always been foreign, a nebulous entity to me. Being there brought a new awareness and appreciation for father's childhood environment. There were emotionally-charged moments when I walked through the village of Pak Koon in Meizhou where father grew up until he moved to Mauritius at the age of ten.















One of the entrances to the house where grandfather lived. Also where uncle Lin Fengmian, the famous painter grew up.

Even though the house had whiffs of mouldy smell, was run down, virtually abandoned, used mostly for storage, with garbage strewn all over, dust covering every inch, I felt a strong connection to its quaint architecture, its courtyard, tiled roofs with peaked corners, and the numerous rooms that grandfather, his brothers and their families occupied.

I could imagine it fully inhabited, a happy place instrumental in forming the father I knew, a traditional man who always put the extended family's needs above his own.






















The old part of Meizhou


I had planned to be in China in October when, I was told, the weather is most pleasant. But I moved my trip so I could join on my third week, the film crew of Alain Gordon-Gentil and David Constantin, the co-producers of Venus d'Ailleurs, a series of documentaries on immigration to Mauritius. China is the last in the series, and I was thrilled to be invited to participate.

Even though I did spew a few expletives at having to endure the suffocating heat, sauna-style in which the body sweats without moving, it was truly amazing to discover Meizhou, not only through father’s eyes, but also those of the documentary crew. To dive not only into my Chinese roots but my Mauritian ones also.











Film crew at work in ancestral home


The crew was very professional, yet very spontaneous, and with such a wonderful sense of humour, which I do miss a lot. They were so funny that Jack, the serious, helpful, efficient Chinese government official accompanying us, even relaxed and smiled.

It was neat to watch Alain Gordon-Gentil and David Constantin’s creative input, cameraman Mahen Bujun’s deep concentration, sound technician Bhimsen Conhyedoss’s quiet efficiency, and assistant Pascal Pierre Louis’s enthusiastic readiness with equipment.

And what a relief to have translator Charles Ng Cheng Hin help us find our way through Meizhou, a city that speaks only Chinese, even in 5 star hotels and restaurants. When he wasn't with us, we had to resort to sign language or drawings.

















This music is very much how I feel about China. And this quote defines my visit, an introspective journey that may take a while to digest and fully understand:

"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them - that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like. "
Lao Tzu

















Au revoir les amis. Saying goodbye to the little family away from home. From left to right: Bhimsen, Pascal, Alain, David, Charles, Mahen

Menwar at Toronto's Afrofest

What a treat to see Mauritius on stage at Queen's Park. Menwar and his band were performing at Afrofest last Sunday.

The crowd cheered and danced, among them many Mauritian fans waving the national flag. When Percy Yiptong with his booming, theatrical DJ voice, introduced Menwar and his musicians with drums beating in the background, it sent shivers down my spine, as if the island were claiming my heart back ...

I've left Mauritius over 30 years ago and haven't kept in touch with its music scene. It was such a thrill to hear Menwar's innovative version of the sega. The numerous musical instruments he uses, from the waterdrum to a percussion device made from a sardine can ... infused an exotic melody to his songs. Menwar is an original percussionist and a passionate singer who can reach into one's soul. He deserves to be applauded for making his country proud. He was named Artist of the Year by Radio France Internationale.

Way to go Mauritius!

Paris, dear Paris ...

Paris has a way of holding on to me, to my clothes, my hair, my heart. It's a pleasantly cloying feeling. I was there a few months ago to take a break, get some inspiration for my work, and of course spend time with some wonderful friends.























Strolling through Paris is always a feast to the senses, making everything a bit surreal. It's not just the fabulous architecture of old buildings, the calm presence of La Seine with its rippling water and bateaux mouches, the large, open, green areas along the Tuileries, Champs Elysées, Luxembourg, it's also the people. A busker's smile as he reaches out to passers by during his performance en plein air. A woman, sitting alone, reflective, watching people across the pond.

Yes, all the people-watching in cafés, on the streets, all the eye-contact are like thin, invisible wires that emit some kind of charge and make me feel connected to the city.























Had some great laughs watching the play Les homos aiment les blondes. It was also a wonderful experience to discover Caveau de la Huchette, a neat jazz club that has seen some of the greatest, like Count Basie. Surprisingly, it's also a club where you can dance the night away.

Paris felt so comfortable, like elegant, well-worn gloves that never lose their cachet.

Dreams

"Fais de ta vie un rêve, et d'un rêve une réalité."
Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Make your life become a dream, and your dream a reality.

"Si un peu de rêve est dangereux, ce qui en guérit, ce n’est pas moins de rêve, mais plus de rêve, tout le rêve."
Marcel Proust
If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.

"Man will never stop dreaming. Dreams nourish the soul like food nourishes the body"
Paulo Coelho

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
Mark Twain

"I have learned, that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."
Henry David Thoreau

I've been fascinated lately by dreams. They are the product of our imagination, our soul, but are often seen as useless distractions from reality. Yet, dreams have often been channelled into wonderful achievements, and have inspired some of our greatest minds.

Having the courage to follow one's dreams is the first step in making them a reality. It takes incredible faith in ourselves, as well as passion, patience and perseverance but the exhilaration and sense of well-being is worth it even if the journey is sometimes long and arduous. I'm all for making dreams come true.

Terry Fallis's writing workshop

It was such a wonderful treat for the lucky ones who could make it last weekend to Terry Fallis's workshop at Lakeview Inn. Terry showed us how to be more methodical, efficient, and disciplined about our writing. We even managed to do some creative writing, and also learned how to outline, podcast and self-publish. It was a privilege to hear him read a few paragraphs from chapter 5 of his sequel, freshly written in the morning, in the calm, reflective atmosphere of the farm.

Terry's talents did not cease to surprise us. He picked up a guitar that was lying around, and started strumming along and singing. Talk about bonus entertainment ... He even knew old French songs by Harmonium. And he was so good and it was all so magical that Judy joined in with her mandolin, and Diane, Julia and I were singing along and dancing. Terry also sprinkled some humour and a few witticisms as he kindly listened to the stimulating "women-geared" topics of conversation initiated by Suzanne, our renaissance woman. He even offered to help in the kitchen and made delicious scrambled eggs.

Thanks Terry for being such a gentleman. You made the weekend so special for all.

Washington

Last week, I spent a few days with my friend Pam, the best hostess I could wish for: organized, easygoing and fun-loving. Visiting Washington is like walking into American history. You can stand where Martin Luther King made his famous "I have a dream ..." speech and watch Abraham Lincoln's statue towering over The Mall. After strolling in that area, numbers are swirling in my head: 18 million books at the Library of Congress. Over 58,000 names on the Vietnam Memorial Wall. Japan's 1912 gift of 3,000 cherry trees to the city of Washington ...

It was awesome walking under the cherry trees along the Tidal Basin. There's this romantic thing about cherry blossoms, their soft pink petals so lush and sensual, yet so fragile and ethereal when they scatter on the ground, on water, like confetti.

Le Chercheur d'Or

" Il y aurait la mer, l'odeur de la mer portée par le vent, le bruit de la mer, et nous écouterions en frissonnant sa voix oubliée qui nous dirait: ne partez plus, ne partez plus." Le Chercheur d'Or par J.M.G. Le Clézio

"There was the sea, the smell of the sea drifting from the wind, the sound of the sea, and we would listen, shivering, to its forgotten voice telling us: don't leave, don't leave."

There is something haunting about Le Clézio's description of the sea in this novel, part of which takes place on the island of Mauritius between 1892 and 1911. But the presence of the sea, the way it seeps into the novel, and latches on to the reader's mind feels so overwhelmingly real that I'm there gliding along the waves with young Alexis. It makes me realize how much I miss the sea as I sit here in my studio looking at the CN tower bathed in the pink glow of dawn.

Le Chercheur d'Or (The Prospector) is the story of a man searching for treasure buried by corsairs on the island of Rodrigues. His long journey gains spiritual meaning in the end when he discovers that the real treasure is love and beauty around him.

So true how we often can't see what we have until we take a long, arduous journey that puts things into perspective.

Mauritian and Indian writers

Snowfalls like these can be so beautiful and romantic and yet so sad ...

But ah, March is here. A whiff of spring wafting tentatively. A few days ago the cutting cold would discourage any form of life to venture out. But we Canadians have developed thick skin. Come snow or ice, we're out dancing, going to theatres, concerts, hockey arenas ... I've been warding off the cold by devouring books that spill with warmth and sunshine in spite of their heart-breaking themes. My latest passion: Mauritian and Indian writers.

Le Dernier Frère by Nathacha Appanah is a story that moves with wonderful fluidity and rhythm. Appanah's ease in expressing strong emotions without being too sentimental makes Raj so real that we feel as if we're right beside him throughout the book. Raj is a young boy whose father, a prison guard, comes home drunk every night and beats him. Raj finds solace in his friendship with a boy who lives in the prison camp. David is one of the 1500 Jews who were not allowed to enter Palestine and were detained in Mauritius by the British during the Second World War. David's parents died in the camp and Raj's two brothers died in a storm. Their shared sorrow is palpable. It's a moving story of friendship, loss, and the courage of survival in the lush tropical island where I grew up. Appanah's writing is sensual, poetic, rich in details. She gets the reader involved with her characters to the point of being moved to tears. I needed a lot of Kleenex.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy is a fantastic book my friend Chris gave me. Thanks Chris. The book is a little treasure chest of words strung together in an emphatic style that makes every detail jump out. Roy's lavish use of similes, and metaphors sometimes brushed with humour, is brilliant and shows a quick and creative mind constantly on the move. "The sky was orange, and the coconut trees were sea anemones waving their tentacles, hoping to trap and eat an unsuspecting cloud." is just one example of her evocative descriptions. Reading her feels as if I'm walking in an exotic market place with an abundance of colours, sounds, smells, movement. I'm so taken by her writing style and the profusion of images that the story almost seems secondary. But of course it's all perfectly interwoven. The compelling story of Rahel and her twin brother Estha, as they shift from innocence to tragic journeys in life, also exposes the politics and social disparities of India. It is an amazing read.

Writing workshop with Terry Fallis

Have you always wanted to write a short story or a novel? Or would you just like to get your creative writing juices going? Here is an opportunity to learn the art of writing from award-winning authors in the inspiring atmosphere of Lakeview Inn, a renovated farm surrounded by 70 acres of rolling pasture and forest.

My friend Judy and I are thrilled to offer a series of writing workshops. The first one, on the weekend of May 1-3, 2009, will be led by Terry Fallis, the 2008 winner of the Stephen Leacock medal for humour. Terry will talk about structure, outlines, editing, podcasting and self-publishing. You can read more about this talented writer here. Prices includes meals, accommodation, and workshop. For more info , please e-mail me at peggylampotang@yahoo.ca

About winter, books, escapism

I love winter, especially on a walk during a fresh snowfall, when tiny white dots twirl around and change the city into a spectacular winter wonderland. Cold months are also perfect for reading away, snuggled cozily in bed, while storms rage outside. Some books I've truly enjoyed:

Quartiers de Pamplemousses, a novel by Alain Gordon-Gentil, is a collection of stories told candidly by a teenager who grapples with a world of eccentric and lovable personalities. Gordon-Gentil writes with great economy of words, and sensitive attention to details. He brings out the absurd with humour and kindness. It was a pleasure to read the quirky things people do in Mauritius, things that I had forgotten, but now seem so precious and uproariously funny. I laughed so hard that I felt as if I was floating, you know that good feeling when your spirits are up. Some of the stories reminded me of Stephen Leacock's Sunshine sketches of a little town.

La révolte du pronétariat, written by Joël de Rosnay, a well-known French scientist with family ties to Mauritius, is a fascinating book that challenges us to look deeper into the internet revolution, the way it has democratized our information system, giving power to the mass, which De Rosnay aptly calls the "pronétariat". The book analyzes the positive as well as the negative aspects of the communication power we now have in our hands. Many ethical questions are raised, and their ramifications overwhelming, even scary. I'd like to believe that goodness of humankind will prevail, that we will use the web as a collective conscience to better our world. Vous pouvez voir De Rosnay parler de son livre ici

Mister Pip by Loyd Jones was another book that I read avidly. The story is told from a young girl's point of view. Matilda lives on a small island during a civil war, and finds a most unlikely friend in Pip, a character in Charles Dickens' Great Expectations. Jones' novel is a tribute to the power of books. He takes us into the innocent, yet fertile imagination of Matilda who absorbs Dickens' story to the point where it becomes part of her life, guiding her through difficult situations while providing solace and hope from the horrors of war.

As we face the gloom of a sinking economy, deteriorating environment, ongoing wars, and our own personal problems, it's therapeutic to indulge in books as a form of escapism. Perhaps, while we're stimulating our mind, dreaming of happier times, who knows, creative solutions may sprout up.

Sidespace Gallery Exhibition

Sidespace Gallery is holding a group exhibition titled Life in the Cemetery. I'm taking part in it with a few photos and a poem. Please drop by if you're in the neighbourhood.

Cemeteries have always been a mystery to me, a bit overwhelming with all the past lives they represent. For this project, I happened to be at Prospect on a foggy day. I felt as if I was walking into a giant cloud, its mistiness softening contours of scraggly branches, people visiting graves of their loved ones. It was eerie yet peaceful, a cemetery yet a pleasant garden to stroll by.















Invitation from Schuster Gindin, curator of Sidespace Gallery:

LIFE in the Cemetery

January 18 – February 20, 2009

Opening Sunday, January 18, 3 – 6 pm

Prospect Cemetery is the largest greenspace in our neighbourhood. It is a stop along the flightway for migratory birds. It is an arboretum where trees mature uncrowded, and expand to their natural shape. Within it are gravestones with slowly fading inscriptions, fading silk and top-heavy plastic flowers inclining toward the grass, a beech grove, stilled artillery and candles fizzled in the rain.

What here is transitory and what permanent? In a group exhibition of painting and photographs, artists consider life amidst the dead.

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

Joyeuses fêtes

It's that time of year again ... To friends and relatives who read this blog, and to all who happen to land on it from your searches on French writers, artists, etc., have a wonderful holiday season.

Je vous souhaite tous une joyeuse fête et une bonne année remplie de belles surprises ...

Sarah Brightman in Toronto

Sarah Brightman in concert last Sunday at Air Canada Centre.


















"Et quand dans la nuit, tout s'endormit
Je vis les cieux devant mes yeux fermés"

Extract from Dans la Nuit - Chopin adapted by Peterson. Lyrics by Strasse-Petersongs/Warner/Chappel

And when at night, all went to sleep
I saw heaven with my eyes closed

Arstcape Wychwood Barns Gala opening

The gala opening and fundraising for Artscape Wychwood Barns last Saturday was an amazing example of how hard work and dogged determination can make the vision of a community come to fruition. I had been to the first fundraising many years ago, when the Streetcar Barns were just that, unused old buildings languishing, an eyesore, but the idea of making it a creative centre for artists had germinated and caught the spirit of the community. Seeing the results last week was such an uplifting moment.

When we entered the renovated building through the main hall with its high ceilings and large warehouse-style exposed parts, my friend Maryse and I were overwhelmed by the buzz of over four hundred people already milling around, drinking, and tasting appetizers from restaurants in the neighbourhood. Artists displaying their work in the studios, musicians, and performers infused a rich and inspiring atmosphere to the event. I met artists, writers, filmmakers, architects, dancers, environment advocates from the community and they all shared their positive feelings about this creative hub.

Mayor Miller gave a speech which you can view on this blog

The Wychwood Barns will not only focus on art, but will also have a weekly organic food market. It also plans to be environmentally friendly. More info here

Dawn at the farm

It is truly magical waking up early and watching the fog lift up, the rising sun weaving through with its transparent glow. Mist has an ethereal quality that fires up the romantic imagination. But here, I feel deep loneliness, yet total communion with this random, filigreed pattern of bare trees.














"Et le paysage à moitié construit à moitié démoli
à moitié réveillé à moitié endormi
s'effondre dans la guerre le malheur et l'oubli
et puis il recommence une fois la guerre finie
il se rebâtit lui-même dans l'ombre
..."

Extrait du poème Le Paysage Changeur par Jacques Prévert

And the landscape half-built half-spoiled
half-awake half-asleep
crumbles in battles tragedy oblivion
and then it starts again when the war is done
it rebuilds itself in the shadow
...

Venus d'Ailleurs ... From so far ...

Last week, I reconnected with Mauritius through two documentaries on African and Indian migration to the island. They are part of a series of four (the one on French and Chinese migration still in progress) titled Venus d'Ailleurs ... From so Far ..., produced by David Constantin and Alain Gordon-Gentil, a prolific man who has written nine books, and won a prize at the Cannes Festival for a short film he produced on Gandhi.

Gordon-Gentil was in Toronto to present his documentaries. The first one I saw on October 22nd at Alliance Française de Toronto was about how Africans came to Mauritius, a poignant account of their plight when they were sold as slaves to work on sugarcane plantations owned by French colonizers. The other presentation on October 23rd at Bai'tul mosque in Maple was about the migration of Indians hired to work on sugarcane fields in Mauritius after slavery was abolished. The documentaries put us into the heart of the people through evocative writing, music, dramatic shots, interviews, and pertinent historical information. They stir compassion for the struggles and difficult living conditions of Africans and Indians who first arrived in Mauritius. At both events, guests were very moved, some to tears. For me, it was a journey that awakened long-dormant attachments to the rich, multicultural aspects of a country I left a long time ago.

It was also my first time in a mosque and I was touched by the atmosphere of tolerance it fostered in hosting the screening, welcoming guests of different ethnic and religious backgrounds, even treating us to a buffet dinner. After the presentation, Gordon-Gentil mingled with the crowd to answer their questions. His easy-going personality, unbound enthusiasm about his work, and interest in people made it a pleasant and inspiring evening for all.

I'd like to thank my good friend Paul Comarmond, Secretary General of IOCP (International Organization of Creole People). He made possible Gordon-Gentil’s presentations in Toronto by including it in Creole Month, an event he helped establish to recognize the importance of Creole in the world.

Quebec City

I was in Quebec City during the Francophone summit with my dear friend Pam, the Washington correspondent for Weekend. Over 50 heads of states were there, among them the Prime Minister of Mauritius, but President Sarkozy was really the big buzz. Glad he didn't bring Carla with him. There would have been hordes to deal with. I was already overwhelmed by blocked streets, helicopters hovering above buildings, soldiers in army fatigues positioned around the Congress centre. Add to that a constant stream of black limos with official flags, followed by cars, vans equipped with security and it was enough to make you feel Quebec City had been transformed into a tense, scary place, a danger zone. Once you got past tightly-guarded Congress Centre, The Hilton and Chateau Frontenac, and walked along Rue St. Jean, the city was its usual self with restaurants and shopkeepers eager to please. Vieux Québec was charming as usual. Rue du Petit-Champlain's cute stores, their stonewalls covered with climbing plants, exuded a cozy atmosphere which made me want to stroll along lazily, listen to music, sit in a café and do absolutely nothing ... or well, perhaps flirt with those friendly Québécois. Passion Francophonie, a show at Palais Montcalm, treated us to talented francophone singers and musicians from Vietnam, Haiti, Madagascar, to name a few. Nightlife was fun. We listened to a Québécois singer strumming his guitar while singing ballads and country songs at Le Pape-Georges a cavernous space, so tight that people sit huddled against each other. This proximity allowed us to chat with the musician and even ask him to play songs for us. Jazz at The Clarendon Hotel was the opposite, the lounge expansive with plenty of distance between patrons, the music pleasantly mellow. Fleuve St. Laurent shimmered as we walked along the boardwalk. 

I love Quebec city, especially when it's not -35º C. It was neat to rediscover it with Pam and her warm

 enthusiasm.

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. :)