So find Dodge and then get out of it

That old restlessness is back, making my heart flutter like a caged bird.

Although perhaps that is more related to my cold than my wanderlust.

Hello Grad School

Hello grad school, I'm Breanna. You're a bit scary, but I think I like you.

I kind of ripped that sentiment off from a friend. He just started law school, and wrote the same thing (substitute law school for grad school) as his facebook status. It made such perfect sense to me that I had to steal it for here. I hope he doesn't mind.

Orientation was Tuesday. Met some great people. Even though I was completely overwhelmed by all of the stuff I am required to do, in the end I am feeling far more positive about this whole experience. The excitement-fear balance is now tipped toward excitement.

Historic

One day I will own a historic home. 

I can't get over how gorgeous historic buildings are. I could spend so much time photographing them. The incredible details are so striking. Old buildings have something that just doesn't exist in new buildings: history. They tell stories. They somehow hold parts of each person involved in building and inhabiting them. They are a physical manifestation of countless memories. I almost feel like they are alive sometimes.

One of the perks of living out east is that history is much more present than it is out west. It's just a logical consequence of the way in which Canada was settled. I told Lycidas, my dear history-loving friend, that the east is steeped in history, and that you can't help but find it, even if you aren't looking for it. There is a connectedness with history that is tangible when you are out here that just doesn't exist in Alberta.

It might be an actual house, it might be an apartment in a historic building, but one day I will own a historic home.

The City of Lights

For months now I have been longing to go back to Paris. This is unusual for me. As beautiful as Paris is I don't usually long to go back. Budapest, yes. Dublin, yes. Cape Breton, yes. Victoria, yes. Paris, not usually. I love perusing my pictures from the few days I was there years ago. Paris is a particularly photogenic city and looks beautiful in black and white, which immediately makes me a fan. I love the sound of the French language. It's beautiful and melodic and I wish I had the time to invest in learning more of it. Despite all of this though, Paris is not usually the top of my dream destination list, but it has been for a while now. I can't explain why, but I'm okay with it. Perhaps it is simply my tendency to surround myself with beauty which is drawing me to this city lately. Perhaps it is simply a coincidental alignment of circumstances that has me encountering things that suggest Paris to me. Who knows? Regardless, I would love to return. I want to wander under the Arc de Triumph at dusk. I want to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night. I want to wander through the Louvre for hours on end. I want to take photos of the incredible architecture. I want to stroll along Parisian streets. I want to sit in a sidewalk cafe with a good friend.

Since I don't have the funds for such a trip right now and am currently in the midst of my semester I am contenting myself with the photography of passage d'enfer, living vicariously through Haleigh of Making Magique and inundating you all with posts featuring pictures from Paris (like this and this).

This photo is probably one of my favourite shots from Paris (although to be honest it is hard to narrow it down). I actually had this published in the school's annual arts publication when I was a freshman. The evening we took this walk through Paris was spectacular. This shot was one of those moments where the stars align and everything comes into place. The lighting, the movement of the cars, the bikes about to cross the street, everything came together to produce an image that I simply adore.

Corners of my mind

Do you ever try to visualize the inside of your head? This can be a challenging and occasionally terrifying process. I almost always picture my brain as a room. Typically it is kind of a messy room. Some bits of it are nice and organized with filing cabinets and curio drawers, but other parts are just stacks of papers and books and random objects that cover desks and the floor. And there are niches, little corners, everywhere where things accumulate and are fogotten. The problem with this kind of set up is that when I start getting stressed out it gets messier and messier until my thoughts just fly around my head in a never ending frenzy. And then I feel like I can never turn my brain off. It's like I'm trapped in the room, flying all over the place, smashing my shins on furniture and whacking my shoulder on the corners. This is exactly how I have felt the past couple of days. There is way too much going on right now. My brain won't turn off and let me rest. Every time I try and sleep all of these thoughts start jumping up and down screaming "Notice me!" "Pay attention to me!". It is making me sleep-deprived and rapidly giving me a headache. I should note that I am not always like this. A am actually a relatively organized person. I love filing. I alphabetize my CDs, DVDs and books (by author, and then within author they are ordered chronologically by publication date). It's just that as the semester progresses and life gets crazier and crazier I tend to lose a bit of my grip on organization. Plus my brain is just never as organized as my outer life.

Thinking about how much grief the corners of my brain are giving me made me think about architecture (the one advantage of having a disorganized room up there is that I can make these strange leaps in logic). I love architecture. I actually took drafting and design when I was in grade 10, but had to drop it after that so I could take choir. Some days I wish I could take it again. Anyway, I took this picture on the footbridge that connects Goldbar park with Rundell park. The straight lines stuck me. It's just so structured and organized. Oddly that is everything I just said my mind is not. Maybe that is why it appeals to me right now?

The Old Stones Whisper

For some reason when I sat down to put this post together I had a hankering to look at old architecture. So I headed straight for the photos from my Europe trip, in particular the ones from St. Patrick's Cathedral. This picture is definitely one of my favourites from that trip. I like how the window is lit up and just jumps out at you. There is something amazing about really old buildings. Think about it. All of the stone work was done by hand. Isn't that crazy? There were probably people who worked on some of these structures who died before they ever got to see the completed product. And they are just so impressive. Old buildings have a certain ambiance about them. They are hushed and reverent and alive with the past. It is almost as if the buildings themselves are alive. I know that sounds weird, but I can't think of another way to explain it. It is as if every person who worked on the construction of the building and each person who has valued it since has left a mark. New buildings don't have that same sense. They haven't been lived in enough to have a really history in them, and the sense of craftsmanship just isn't there. That's not to say that a building has to be hundreds of years old to have that sort of breathing life, but I think it does have to have a past. It's like memories accumulate in the cracks in the walls and the corners of rooms. You don't know what the memories are, but you know they are there. They make the place come alive. I really wish there were more old buildings around here for me to wander through. I find them very peaceful and restful and relaxing.

The Cracks, They Start to Show

I went to Shakespeare in the Park tonight with my parents to see Macbeth. I've talked about how much I love Lady Macbeth on here before, but in case you missed it the first time, she is one of my favorite characters in all of Shakespeare. Fearsome, chilling, strong, ambitious, haunted. She fascinates me. I think one of the reasons I enjoy Macbeth so much is the psychological aspect to the play. I think it's interesting how Macbeth and Lady Macbeth are so haunted by their guilt, how it manifests itself in thier minds. The hallucinations, the sleepwalking, they are truly tormented. Lady Macbeth's much quoted "out damn'd spot" speech is the very embodiment of this breakdown. The cracks in her normally impenetrable armour begin to show. They appear slowly and without her knowledge, but the ultimately rip her apart.

The past little while I feel like some cracks in my armour have begun to show. I pride myself on being strong and independent, but sometimes it gets exhausting. Life has been getting to me. Needling me. Slowly wearing me down. This week was supposed to be really great, but yesterday was kind of disasterous and today (with the exception of the play) was only slightly better. I've been constantly frustrated lately. I really wish I had access to a sound proof room so I could just scream as loud as I can until my voice is gone. Obviously I'm not Lady Macbeth. I haven't abetted any murders lately, nor am I expecting any of this to lead to a complete mental breakdown, but the sentiment is similar.

I took this picture at Hatley Castle on Vancouver Island last summer. A very beautiful building. The carvings are what first captured my attention and led me to take a picture. It wasn't until I was home and editing pictures that I noticed the cracks running through the facade. It's interesting how true that is of most things. At first glance almost everything and everyone looks perfect. It isn't until you get a bit closer, until you get to know them, that you find the imperfections.