Gatherings of the loveliest sort

Jean soon learned that at Ewa's parties there was always a project on. Huge rolls of brown paper were unfurled and everyone painted a mural; a sheet was tacked to the wall and a film projected while the Dogs played, sewing together a melody out of silence and the whirring of the projector. Actors gathered in the middle of the living room and, with nothing more than a spoon or a dishtowel, transformed reality - having a Sunday row on a pond or floating in a lifeboat on the North Sea; suddenly they were lovers on a picnic blanket, or thieves, or children on a swing. Jean knew these actors had worked together for a long time, a bodily history among them. She had seen Avery perform loaves and fishes with objects, with stones on the beach, with rulers and wooden blocks, creating bridges, castles, entire cities. But his magic was solitary and intellectual compared with the instantly complex communication between these bodies, the moment continually changing, deepening into humour or sorrow. And sometimes this pathos was intense, and a hole opened, and everyone watching from the edges of the room found their own sorrow pouring into it. Crack! the earth of the scene split open and down everyone tumbled together into the wreckage of memory. And then the actors melted back into the party, and the food and the bottles were passed around again.

-- Anne Michaels, The Winter Vault 

Some day, I would love to host gatherings like the one that Michaels describes in this passage.

I was fortunate enough to spend quite a bit of time over the long weekend at low-key gatherings with dear friends. It was a pretty delightful way to celebrate the start of summer, if you ask me.

Housekeeping

Sometimes little details can make even the most mundane things pretty...

So, this is a rather disjointed post, but it has some important information, so bear with me.

HERE'S THE REALLY IMPORTANT NEWS: As the final step in the "rebranding" of my blog, I am finally changing my URL. It is going to be changing to http://breanna-girl.blogspot.com as of Sunday. So, if you read this blog on a regular basis and want to keep doing so, I suggest you update your bookmarks, etc. Don't worry. I'll remind you again before it happens.

In other, less pressing news, I just started a second blog which is more focused on my writing. Having a photography blog has been so great for my practice of photography, that I figured having a writing-related blog might do the same for my writing. I'm inspired by Ring Them Bells, so it's going to be a bit of a hodgepodge, but I think it shall be lovely. You can expect some mini creative pieces, some of my own poetry (so rarely shared on here), random thoughts in very particular language, links to things you need to read or watch or look at...basically anything creative that I can't quite get to fit on this blog.

Love Notes

I bought some watercolour pencils last week and have been having so much fun playing around with them. Last night I decided to make some of my experiments into little note cards to send to friends via snail mail. I have a pretty big collection of stationary already, but there is something extra sweet about sending something handmade.

Songs for Late Nights

I've been pulling a lot of late nights recently. And I'll be pulling a lot of late nights this week. Such is the joy of this time of the academic year. Since you probably aren't all that interested in hearing yet another rant about a paper, I thought instead I would share some of the songs that I tend to have on repeat as the hours creep past midnight and there is no end in sight.

I Don't Feel It Anymore (Song of the Sparrow) -- William Fitzsimmons & Priscilla Ahn

Bloodbuzz Ohio -- The National

Re: Stacks -- Bon Iver

White Blank Page -- Mumford and Sons

How it Comes is How it Goes -- Jay Malinowski

Set the Fire to the Third Bar -- Snowpatrol & Martha Wainwright

Wake the Earth -- The Honey Trees

The Darkest Side -- The Middle East

I Won't Be Found -- The Tallest Man on Earth

Cicadas and Gulls -- Feist

Beautiful and Good Things

Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are. - Anaïs Nin

On Saturday morning I went to check out the farmers' market here. It's amazing. It runs twice a week, all year round, and on Saturday's there are about 70 vendors. And it is a real farmers' market. There were only one or two booths that were selling crafty things. Instead, there was an embarrassment of riches in the food department. Beautiful vegetables and berries, local wines, fresh bread...everything one could hope for. One table was selling fresh flowers, and they were stunning. I bought myself a few stems to set on my table. They are absolutely delightful. There is something about having fresh flowers that always makes me feel better. They instantly provide me with a smile whenever I look at them. I think I may need to make a weekly tradition of going to the market on Saturday mornings. You know it's a good place when I will get out of bed to go.

A Little Bit Fruity

One of my favourite things about summer is the fruit selection. Every year, as soon as it starts to get sunny on a semi-regular basis I start craving fruit all the time. This year I was craving fruit starting in like February (in fact, I took this picture in March). It was ridiculous. The only problem with a love of fruit is that when you are the only person eating the food you buy, it tends to go bad before you can eat it all. And that is not only a waste of money and food, but just plain upsetting. I mean, I get all excited to have some [insert delicious fruit here] and go to the fridge and pull it out and it is all mushy and moldy and just generally nasty. It's awful, partly because then I am craving whatever fruit it was and nothing else sounds appealing once I start craving a specific item. So whatever I eat ends up being a disappointment. Anyway, I was reminded of the fact that I love fruit today when I went out for brunch/lunch today at this place that serves fruit with everything. It's fantastic.

The vivacity of one of those moments would burn us

from "A Tale of Two Gardens"
Octavio Paz

A house, a garden,
                           are not places:
they spin, they come and go.
                                        Their apparations open
another space
                    in space,
another time in time.
                             Their eclipses
are not abdications:
the vivacity of one of those moments
                                                   would burn us
if it lasted a moment more.
                                      We are condemned
to kill time:
                so we die,
little by little.
                  A garden is not a place.
Down a path of reddish sand, 
we enter a drop of water,
drink green clarities from its center,
we climb
            the spiral of hours
to the tip of the day,
                             descend
to the last burning of its ember.
Mumbling river,
                      the garden flows through the night.


I mark the changing of the seasons by these trees, but my absolute favourite time is when the bloom in the spring. The flowers never last very long because the first good gust of wind blows the petals off the trees and creates what my mom likes to call an impromptu wedding in our backyard. The other morning, a couple of days after I took this picture, I actually looked out the window and thought it was snowing because all of the petals were raining down. The weather is a bit gloomy right now, so I thought that sharing something simple and beautiful and summery was a good idea.

I love the opening of this poem. Octavio Paz writes truly stunning poems. The idea of gardens being loci for nostalgia is wonderful and enchanting. They are no longer places but time itself in some way. They capture moments and feelings and then unleash them on you when you return. I think any place is like that, imprinted by the past, imbued with memory. Objects, places hold history within themselves. Not just our personal memories either. I always feel as if locations and objects hold historical memories. Perhaps this is why old buildings or vintage objects are so fascinating. They hold countless stories. And perhaps this is also why sometimes it is nice to have something brand new, something that is blank, that has the room for you to create your own memories without becoming mixed up in those that came before you. I've never had a garden like that, but I can imagine one. It's really lovely to think about.

Stymied, stuck, at a stasis

I am stymied, stuck, at a stasis. Some paralysis of the head has got me frozen.

But I must get back into the world of my creative mind: otherwise, in the world of pies & shin beef, I die. The great vampire cook extracts the nourishment & I grow fat on the corruption of matter, mere mindless matter. I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.

(from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)

Apologies for the sporadic nature of posts on here lately. Life has been busy. But more than that, I have been feeling profoundly uncreative. This is not unusual at this time of year. Exams and final papers take a toll on me creatively. Moving knocks the wind right out of me. And the typical end-of-term sickness makes it hard to do anything. I've been thinking the last few days about how dry and sterile I feel when it comes to creative things. It has been so long since I did anything deeply creative. I keep thinking back to last summer; a lot of things about that period of time sucked. It was not a good year. But my days fell into a lovely rhythm, an ebb and flow of creativity, an immersion in artistic pursuits. I miss that feeling. I need to reacquaint myself with pastels. I need to buy some film for my new Diana camera and begin to play with it. I need to spend days taking photos. I need to learn a new song on the piano. I need to write. I just need to do something.

This photo has very little to do with this post other than the fact that it was produced in one of my few creative moments in the past few weeks. I kind of like it for that fact. It promises me that I won't be stuck in this barren land forever. It's a little glimmer of hope.

A little nervous breakdown can really work wonders for a girl

Last night when I got back into Edmonton I had a bit of a meltdown. I honestly don't think I've ever had such a hard time leaving somewhere. At first I was distracted by the airport and all of its fabulousness. Then there was the excitement of settling into the plane and taxing and takeoff. (Airports and planes sometimes feel like home to me, that is how much I love them.) But as we flew away from Calgary I experienced a physical ache. I did not want to be leaving. More than that, I did not want to be going back to...well, here. I love my school. It is amazing. I have finally come to feel like I have a community that I am a part of here and I am beyond sad to be leaving it. But there was this physical ache in my heart as the plane flew through the sky. And it just got worse and worse as Gabby drove me home from the airport. Finally, when I got back to my room, which looked like a bomb went off because I've been writing papers for weeks now and therefore haven't been cleaning at all, I just collapsed into tears. I just didn't want to be there, in that room, with all the mess and the stress of finals and everything. I struggle every year at this time to remember why I love school, why I am doing this. I never think I will make it through. I always do. I need to be reminded of that though. There are a few people in my life who can look at me this time of year and somehow know exactly what to say. I appreciate them immensely. Last night though I was so far gone that even Gabby's reminder that I don't actually hate school, I just hate finals, and that I will get through this, even her countless hugs were not enough to pull me out of my wallowing. So I cried. And then I took a shower and crawled into bed. And you know what? Today I feel much better. Still overwhelmed. Still stressed. But despite the fact that a giant muddy puddle ate my shoe and I just couldn't get myself organized for the first half of the day, I still looked out my window tonight and smiled at the gorgeous sunset. Sometimes I think I just need a meltdown. I almost always feel better after one.

Macro

The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. -- Henry Miller

I am fascinated by macro photography. It's one of my favourite ways to shoot actually. There is something about getting up close to everyday objects that is so cool. It changes your perspective. There is something magical that happens in the best macro shots. A new world opens up. I always feel like the characters in fairy tales or kids' books that discover a secret world under the floor boards or in the forest. Like I've glimpsed the fairy world in Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens or wandered into the secret kingdom in Twelve Dancing Princesses. It's profoundly beautiful and moving.

Those of you who know me and spent some time with me this past week know that my fellow Ballyhoo editor and I spent a lot of time disparaging the number of flower pictures we received as submissions. I am very conscious of the fact that I personally take pictures of flowers almost every chance I get. I think though that this concept of intrigue and uniqueness is what makes or breaks nature photography. You can have a perfectly lovely photo, you can even have a beautiful photo; however, I think that for me to genuinely fall in love with something there has to be something different about it. It has to grab my attention. It could be light, or colour, or composition, or subject matter, but something has to grab me. For me, this often comes from the exact sentiment Henry Miller is talking about.

Intricate Beauty

I have a class this semester that I routinely regret taking. Every time I go to class I wish I had taken something else. However, the texts for the class are so wonderful that I am almost glad I took the class for that alone. I have this class to thank for introducing me to the beauty of Anne Michaels' writing. I think I have talked about my love of poetry on the blog before, but I truly do adore it. One of the things I love best about poetry is simply dwelling in the sound of it. I love poems that simply must be read out loud. That sensation of simply existing in and with something so beautiful is wonderful. It's also the sensation I love about art and music. The book we are reading for this class is Fugitive Pieces and although it is a novel, it is so poetic that it has completely enthralled me. I could happily spend an entire day luxuriating in the writing. Michaels' phrases beg to be read aloud. The words are exquisite and sensuous. The emotions are deep and often painful, but they are excruciatingly beautiful in their intensity. Emerging from the book feels like emerging from a deep deep sleep. At first I am not aware of the world around me, and it takes a long time to fully come to grips with reality. It leaves a undefinable but lingering sensation like a second skin, like the echo of a dream, that haunts me for the rest of the day. I completely adore this. This is why I love art. This is why I love language.

I love these little tiny pink flowers. They are a kind of visual poetry. Each one is beautiful on its own, but all together they become something even more striking.

In real life, unlike in Shakespeare...

In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be. -- Hubert H. Humphrey

One of the classes I am taking this semester is called "The Self in the Novel". Intriguing, no? As I've been plowing my way through the first novel on the reading list (Great Expectations by Charles Dickens), one of the recurring themes I have encountered is the connection between a name and an identity. This quote showed up in my quotes of the day email (yes, I do subscribe to a quotes of the day email) today and just seemed to fit the novel so well. I certainly think that there is a link between the name and the self. Think about how different it is when someone calls you by a nickname versus your full name, or one nickname rather than another. I know that I associate certain nicknames with certain periods in my life and they really only sound right when used by specific people. I think that is telling. I might not act like a totally different person around these various groups of people, but there are certainly differences. Plus, each of my nicknames has come from a very different time in my life, when I was a very different person in many ways. Just an intriguing thing for you to contemplate. Or to promptly forget as soon as you stop reading this.

I figured that since the Shakespeare Mr. Humphrey is referring to is Juliet's famous rose speech (which I have previously posted with another rose picture here) that I ought to pair this rumination with a lovely, traditional kind of rose picture. I love the color of this particular bloom. Taken at the Buchart Gardens on Vancouver Island.

Pygmy Puff

Have you seen Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince? If you have, think about the beginning of the movie when they are on the train to Hogwarts. There is a scene where Luna comes up to Ginny in the corridor and gives her a quibbler and Ginny has a pink pygmy puff on her shoulder. That is what this flower makes me think of. Yes, my mind works is mysterious ways. Although if you've read this blog before you probably already know that.

This is a picture from the Muttart Conservatory last Family Day. I have no idea what kind of flower this is. I can tell you that it was in the tropical pyramid and that it looks super cool. That's about it. Reason enough to take a photo of it though.

Pretty in Pink

It has been cool and rainy for the past couple days, and even though I am enjoying the cooler temperatures and the opportunity to wear sweaters again it is kind of bumming me out. Actually, it is mostly making me really tired. And making my knee hurt. Yeah, I'm only 21, but my one knee likes to inform me of dramatic weather changes by aching, sending shooting pains down my shin, and occasionally swelling up to twice its normal size. Anyway, even though I've been longing for fall to arrive, I still am not quite ready to let the dreamy days of summer slip away. That is why I chose this picture today. I took this at that Muttart Conservaory here in Edmonton last summer. The soft pink color and the fuzzy texture are distinctly spring-like in my mind. And the wheat-like shape combined with this makes me think of the first precious days of summer vacation in May and June when I start daydreaming about skipping through fields while wearing lovely summer dresses. Not that this ever happens in real life, but it is a nice daydream. Particularly on blah days like today.

By Any Other Name

[Romeo comes forward, Juliet entering above]

Romeo
He jests at scars that never felt a wound -
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my lady, O it is my love,
O that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to me she spaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if here eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it wer not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might tough that cheek!

Juliet                                   Ay me.

Romeo (aside)                                 She speaks.
O speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a wingèd messenger of heaven
Unto the white upturnèd wond'ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Juliet
O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo (aside)
Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?

Juliet
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Romeo             I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized:
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Juliet
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in hight,
So stumblest on my counsel?

Romeo                               By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am.
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word. (2.1.44-100)

So, I am not really a fan of Romeo and Juliet. I know it is this well-known, tragic love story, but it mostly just annoys me. I can't stand the fact that there is no real villian. I think this is particularly unfortunate because Shakespeare writes some incredible villians. In the end it is really timing, or luck, or cosmic alignment that ruins everything, and that just isn't satisfying enough for me. Plus, Romeo and Juliet are really just incredibly whiny teenagers. And they make idiotic decisions. And they complain all the time. I don't think that my view of this play is helped by the Baz Lurhman film adaptation either. I know that I have friends who may disown me over this statement, but I actually really dislike that movie. This is due partly to the fact that I have a major bias against Leonardo DiCaprio, but is also because I find Romeo and Juliet even more annoying and whiny in the film than in the play. And the film totally changes the ending so that Juliet is waking up as Romeo is killing himself and so he knows that she wasn't actually dead. I mean, come on, that just makes everything that much worse. Now he knows how stupid he was. Really? Anyway. Moving on. Despite my dislike of this particular play I will admit that the iconic balcony scene is exceptionally romantic. I mean, they speak in spontaneous sonnets that are shared between them. And the imagery is incredible. So, as cheesy and overused as some of these lines are, they really are beautiful.

I really love this picture of one of my mom's roses in the garden. She bought this bush this summer and the roses are a gorgeous coral-pink. I'm not the biggest fan of roses in general, but I will admit that they make for great photographs. But would it really be as lovely if it was called something else?

Exuberance is beauty

William Blake once said that "exuberance is beauty". I think this is often true in nature, particularly flowers. As much as I love tiny, little, simple flowers, my favorite flowers are inevitably ones that have a bit of exuberance about them. I love peonies and mums, both flowers best known for their incredible number of petals. This peony is from the peony gardens at Fort Edmonton which is probably one of my favorite features of the park. Peonies are just amazing because as they bloom they slowly reveal more and more layers of petals. They look different every single day because of this. Yup, definitely a favorite of mine.

Wanderlust

I spent most of today with one of my dear friends. One of the things we talked about for quite a while was travel. I haven't been anywhere in quite a long time. Actually, it's been just over a year since I went to Victoria and that was the last trip I took. Talking about traveling and places that we want to go has really given me a case of wanderlust. Sadly I really am not in a place in my life right now where travel is an option. But hey, it's nice to dream a little.

I've mentioned my 1934 Webster's Dictionary on here before, but I don't think I have ever shared any pictures of it. This is really a shame, but I am correcting it today. Oddly enough, the first pictures I'm showing you from a dictionary are maps and not words. Oh well. I'm odd, so this is just par for the course. One of the appendicies in the back of the dictionary is "A Reference History of the World from the Earliest Times to the Present" which has a bunch of different maps from different time periods. I love maps, especially old ones, so I was quite excited when I discovered them and simply had to take some pictures. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Beauty and Imperfection go together wonderfully

I love taking pictures of flowers. Especially close up, macro kinds of shots. There are just so many amazing and lovely details in each flower. Color, variations in shade, the shape and fullness of the petals. And no flower is perfect. I love that. It's the imperfections that make things lovely. In fact, I find that I often fixate on capturing those imperfections on film (or SD card, as the case may be). My mom brought one of our peonies into the house the other day and it has bloomed in just a couple days. Peonies are simply gorgeous. They are full and lush. This particular peony has some redish pink streaks that are revealing themselves as it blooms and I love them. Truly gorgeous.

A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers

Yesterday my parents came home from grocery shopping and my mom handed me a bouquet of flowers to cheer me up after my awful day on Friday. And let me tell you, it worked. I don't get flowers very often (unless I buy them for myself), so it really was a treat for me to get them, and they are lovely. They're a bunch of dyed spray mums. I have recently decided that spray mums and spider mums are probably two of my favorite flowers. These ones are dyed in bright summery colors: orange, yellow, blue, purple, and coral. One of the things I like about dyed flowers is that they tend to dye unevenly and take on a verigated color. It's quite lovely. These coral ones are some of my favorites in the bunch, so naturally I had to take pictures of them! I hope they brighten your day as much as they did mine.

All You Need is Cheese

I realize that this picture has nothing to do with cheese. However, in my head, which is a very strange place most of the time, this picture and cheese are connected. I shall try to explain. Cheese makes me think of a) the food and the really annoying "all you need is cheese" ad campaign (does anyone else find those ads mildly disturbing?) and b) cheesy things, like movies and music and tv shows. I've been in a really weird headspace for the past few days and I really have no idea why. Maybe the weather has something to do with it, but I think it has been compounded by other things that are going on in my life right now. Regardless of the source of it, I've been a bit 'off' lately and have been trying to figure out how to cheer myself up and break out of my funk. Turns out the solution has been cheesy tv, movies, and music (and you were wondering how cheese and my mood were connected...patience Iago...). I've been listening to pop music (of the variety that it is vaguely embarassing to admit that I like it, but I love it nonetheless) and watching cheesy Disney channel/Family channel tv shows and movies (again, some people I know would be ashamed to associate with me if they knew that I was spending copious amounts of quality time with Disney channel stars). I know that this probably makes me incredibly uncool, but since I was never cool in the first place I am okay with it. Besides, it seems to be just what the doctor ordered. I am loving it.

If you have made it through that convoluted explaination of how cheese is even on my mind then you are probably thinking "That's great Breanna, but how does this connect to a picture of sunshine and flowers?" Well, my mood has become significantly sunshinier since my last post because of the vast quantities of cheesy media I have been consuming. Thus, even though it was grey and rainy today, I feel kind of like this picture on the inside. Bright, colorful, sunshiney, just plain old happy. It's nice. I took this picture last summer in Victoria at the Hatley Castle grounds. It was such a gorgeous day and we spent quite a while wandering through the gardens. Good times, summer, and sunshine are all things that suit my newly improved mood. Apparently sometimes it really is true that all you need is cheese.