Self-portraiture

One of my favourite subjects while I was taking my undergrad was art history. You probably wouldn't have guessed this if you had been talking to me while I was trudging through the ridiculous amounts of reading and studying or the three hour lectures, but I genuinely enjoyed the material. I actually considered taking this year to get a second BA in art history. Anyway. One of the really interesting things we talked about was self-portraiture and how it convey's the artist's opinion of and way of seeing his or her self. It's fascinating stuff. I could go into all sorts of details about how this particular self-portrait reveals stuff about me and how I'm feeling about myself and my life lately, but I'll let you try and figure it out on your own if you so choose rather than boring you with my own analysis of myself and my work (which, depending on your theoretical school, may not even matter in the end). I find it interesting though that in almost all of my favourite pictures of myself, I am either not looking at the camera or I'm making a ridiculous face. I'm sure that reveals some sort of deep psychological truth.

This is the beauty of strength broken by strength and still strong

The Lonely Land
A.J.M. Smith

Cedar and jagged fir
uplift sharp barbs 
against the gray
and cloud-piled sky;
and in the bay
blown spume and windrift
and thin, bitter spray
snap
at the whirling sky;
and the pine trees
lean one way.

A wild duck calls
to her mate,
and the ragged
and passionate tones
stagger and fall,
and recover,
and stagger and fall,
on these stones -  
are lost
in the lapping of water
on smooth, flat stones.

This is a beauty
of dissonance,
this resonance
of stony strand,
this smoky cry
curled over a black pine
like a broken
and wind-battered branch
when the wind
bends the tops of the pines
and curdles the sky
from the north.

This is the beauty
of strength
broken by strength
and still strong.


I fell in love with poetry thanks to a really fantastic prof in my first year of university. I fell in love with Canadian poetry when I read this poem in my second year. Right now I'm preparing a mini seminar on it for my Canadian ekphrasis class. It's moments like these that make me feel richly blessed to be a student.

Perfectionism and Dance

I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily. If I get through this year, kicking my demon down when ti comes up, realising I'll be tired after a days work, and tired after correcting papers, and it's natural tiredness, not something to be ranted about in horror, I'll be able, piece by piece, to face the field of life, instead of running from it the minute it hurts.

I have a choice: to flee from life and ruin myself forever because I can't be perfect right away, without pain & failure, and to face life on my own terms & "make the best of the job."

My demon of negation will tempt me day by day, and I'll fight it, as something other than my essential self, which I am fighting to save: each day will have something to recommend it: whether the honest delight at watching the quick furred body of a squirrel, or sensing, deeply, the weather and color, or reading and thinking of something in a different light: a good explanation or 5 minutes in class to redeem a bad 45. Minute by minute to fight upward. Out from under that black cloud which would annihilate my whole being with its demand for perfection and measure, not of what I am, but of what I am not.

(from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)

This is one of the places that Sylvia Plath discusses her perfectionism, or, as she likes to call it, her demon. When I first read these passages they rang so true for me. I am a perfectionist. This can be a good thing. It's what gets me top marks in school. It's what drives me to achieve more and to learn and grow constantly. It's what makes me perfect for editing jobs. However, Sometimes it seriously feels like a curse. It makes me incredibly competitive. Because of my perfectionism I drive myself hard when it comes to school and this sometimes has disastrous consequences on my health, sanity, and social life. I'm obsessive about my outfits: even my socks have to match what I'm wearing. I struggle with perfectionism when it comes to photography and this blog. I feel like if I don't have the "perfect" picture to post then there is no point in me putting something up. I have to force myself to realize that sometimes me loving something is enough of a reason to post it, even if it isn't the most perfectly executed photo or exactly what I am looking for to pair with my musings. I've taken a couple weeks of swing dancing lessons now and my battle with perfectionism has been raging. The first week I was way out of my comfort zone. I didn't know what I was doing and I had a hard time with that. I just hate that feeling of being off kilter and unsure. It's hard to explain, but it really bothers me. I told Bean though, who is taking the lessons with me, that I think it is good for me to push myself outside of my comfort zone sometimes. This week I was actually kind of dreading the lesson. It ended up being so much fun though. I just kind of let it go. I decided, "So what if I'm not perfect at this? Just laugh it off and enjoy yourself." And it worked. So I was right; sometimes I need to push myself out of my comfort zone. And sometimes, I don't need to be perfect.

Oh How I Loathe Thee

I hate finals.

I realize that no one really loves finals. I have yet to hear, in all my years of schooling, someone say "Yay finals! This is my favourite time of the year!" or anything of a similar ilk. However, I really hate finals. I would rather write a paper. And if I have to write an exam then I would rather it be a take home than an in class. Exams just stress me out way more than papers. I think part of it has to do with the fact that studying isn't a finite task. I never really feel like I am done studying. It is more that I just run out of time and have to go write the exam. Papers I can feel like I am done. Studying just goes on and on and on...

I hate studying. And I am not good at it on the best of days. Today, however, it is exceptionally bad. See, I have one final exam left in my undergraduate career. One. It's tomorrow afternoon. By three o'clock Thursday afternoon I will be free. This alone would be enough to make studying a difficult task. To top it off though it is in a class that I just don't care about at all. It was a topic I wasn't particularly interested in to begin with, we had a horrible prof, and overall I feel like I learned very little. My notes are pathetic. And not in the this-prof-is-so-deep-I-don't-know-what-to-write way, but in the we-actually-didn't-discuss-this-in-any-sort-of-detail way. It's awful. Consequently I have very little motivation to study.

I'll still be panicking tomorrow though. Darn perfectionism.

The Printed Word

I will never be a journalist. I flirted with the idea briefly, but I simply am not cut out for it. This doesn't mean that newspapers don't fascinate me though. The world of print media is changing so quickly and that excites me. The development of digital mediums for books, newspapers and magazines has turned the world of publishing a bit topsy turvy. It is going to be so cool to see how things develop in the next few years. I don't think books will die out any time soon. There is too much emotion invested the physical book. Maybe in a few generations they will fall by the way side, but I definitely don't see it happening in my lifetime. Newspapers and magazines are an entirely different can of worms though. There are so many fabulous online magazines starting up. The printed version is still going fairly strong though. Newspapers are probably facing the most challenges surviving. There are just so many other mediums by which to get news, and most of them are more immediate and up-to-date. Why read the newspaper when the stories in it are already 8-12 hours old and you've seen them online somewhere? It's all just so fascinating. I had a really interesting conversation with a friend last week about publishing stuff. That conversation, in conjunction with the Ballyhoo layout process, really made me certain that my life is headed in the right direction. I've also been finding lately that not only is the future of print intriguing, so is the history. I just did a presentation/paper on a book about the role of women in early periodicals and was truly fascinated by the topic. It would be really interesting to trace this kind of topic through from the advent of the periodical in the 18th century to contemporary magazines. Yeah, I'm a nerd. I know.

This picture is from Fort Edmonton almost a year ago. I never enjoyed the Fort when I was a kid. As I've gotten older though it has begun to grow on me. Funny how that happens.

Ambiance

I am obsessed with light. Although if you know me or read this blog on a regular basis you probably already know that. There is just so much light can do. The right lighting can change everything. I've been transfixed by various qualities of sunlight for the past several months. This may be because it is the dead of winter and therefore the number of hours with sunlight are precious few and I am longing for summer and its attendant light. However, I have forgotten lately that artificial light can actually be just as lovely. This is because I spend most of my time with artificial light in the form of annoying, buzzing overhead lights in the office or the tungsten lights in my room which keep me awake while doing homework. I've been reminded a couple of times in the past week or two that these are not the only forms of artificial light, and that artificial light is not always profoundly unfortunate. One such reminder came today when I walked into the publications office and Sharon had desk lamps on but the overhead lights off. I can't even explain how relaxing that felt. It was instant too. I walked in and could suddenly breathe. I walked out and the world landed back on my shoulders. That, my friends, is the magic of light.


This is a chandelier in a coffee shop in Toronto (the same one that this and this are from). This coffee shop is quite possibly one of my favourite places from my trip to Toronto. One day I will go back there. I adore chandeliers. One day, when I am successful and rich, I will have a chandelier in my dream home. Until then I will have to satisfy myself with enjoying them when I come across them and wandering through lighting sections in stores.

l'esprit d'escalier

l'esprit d'escalier (idiomatic expression) [French]
the feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you should have said

I love learning idiomatic expressions in other languages. Sometimes they are just plain funny, like the French expression for butchering the French language: "vous parlez français comme une vache espagnole" (literally: you speak French like a Spanish cow). Sometimes they manage to capture a greater meaning than English can, like the Italian expression for a close friend: "un'amica stretta" (with "stretta" literally meaning "tight" like "tight clothing"). Sometimes they simply provide a way to say something that can't be said in English. I love English, but it is by no means an all-sufficient language. This is the case with "l'esprit d'escalier". Literally translated it means "the spirit of stairs". I am not really sure that this is enlightening, but the French phrase is so perfect right now. The number of times I have experienced this the past couple of days is remarkable. Generally the fact that I can't explain this sensation just adds to my frustration. So, even if I can't stop being the world's most awkward conversationalist, now I at least have a name for what I'm feeling when I get home.

This is not at all the picture I was hoping for. I have a serious lack of stair photos and the apartment stairwell has lighting that is akin to public bathrooms and school gymnasiums, photography just should not be attempted in these situations. This picture was pretty blah, so I edited it up, fiddling with colours, highlights and shadows until I got something that at least looks cool, even if it isn't what I had envisioned.

Waiting for Love to be Born

Waiting for Love to be Born
Erin O'Donnell

All is set
I know my stocking's downstairs
And the sky is smiling
There is magic in the air

I can't sleep
I am so glad to be home
On this early morning
I'm not alone

This is the season, this is the time
I see the face of a child and that face is my
I'm looking for starlight and I'm listening for angels
Everyone is asleep on this Christmas morn
But I'm awake
And I'm waiting here for love again to be born

Bundled up
I know what's waiting for me
More than a pretty package
Next to the tree

Something else
A gift far greater I know
Born in Bethlehem
Long ago

This is the season, this is the time
I see the face of a child and that face is mine
I'm looking for starlight, and I'm listening for angels
Now the house is asleep on this Christmas morn
But I'm awake
And I'm waiting here for love again to be born

The sun is rising, I see the distant light
Oh what a glorious day will come from this holy night

To us is born
Every December anew
A love that's unbelievable
Given to me, given to you

This is the season, this is the time
I see the face of a child and that face is mine
I'm looking for starlight and I'm listening for angels
Now the house is asleep on this Christmas morn
But I'm awake
And I'm waiting here for love again to be born
Yes, I'm waiting here
I'm waiting here for love again to be born

[Merry Christmas!]

Nice Cookies

These cookies made me smile when my mom brought them home today. They are actually called "Nice". Seriously. That's what it says on the box and what it says on the cookies. I think that is great. At first I thought they were special Christmas cookies. You know, "Nice" and "Naughty". But alas there are no "Naughty" cookies. Only "Nice" ones. They amuse me though. Plus, they are actually quite tasty.

The Dream I Didn't Know I Had

Have you ever opened your mouth and had a dream you didn't even know existed escape before you recognized it? I have. Just over a week ago I was having a conversation with some of my fellow English majors and said something off-hand in the middle of a conversation. Just one of those rapid-fire conversational moments. It has been haunting me ever since. Not haunting me like a regret. It's not that crazed bashing itself into the walls of my brain kind of haunting. It's more like this thought has just found a comfortable spot and is sitting there, waiting for me to visit it, to converse with it, to fall in love with it. And I have been doing just that. Slowly. Just briefly stopping by to say hello, ask it how it's doing. I am cautious when it comes to these things. Plus this little guy caught me off-guard. He just snuck right into the middle of a conversation, so I wasn't quite sure how seriously to take him. Today I had a really good conversation with Bean about it though, and somewhere in the course of this caution fell asleep and I fell in love. I'm still hesitant to talk about it with very many people. It's something that may never happen. It's something that, even if it does happen, will not be for years and years. My trepidation also comes from doubt though. Doubt that I would ever be able to accomplish this. Doubt that others would be on board for it. It's still new, still delicate. I don't yet have the strength of conviction. It's coming though. I can feel it. So I am going to keep visiting this dream. He may have been a bit unexpected, but now that he's here I hope he doesn't leave.

I love the places I ain't ever been to

Down in the Valley

The Head and the Heart

I wish a was a slave to an age-old trade

Like riding around on railcars

And working long days

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways

Call it one drink to many

Call it pride of a man

It don't make no difference if you sit or you stand

They both end in trouble and start with a grin

They both end in trouble and start with a grin

We do it over and over and over again

We do it over and over and over again

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

I know there's California, Oklahoma

And all of the places I ain't ever been to

But down in the valley

With whiskey rivers

These are the places you will find me hiding

These are the places I will always go

These are the places I will always go

I am on my way

I am on my way

I am on my way back to where I started

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

One more for the stars and the eyes of the walls

I saw your face, I heard you calling out

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

I saw your face in the crowd and you came out

Just like the sun and the moon and the stars at night

There was a sign on the door and it reads to me

Just like the sun and the moon and the stars at night

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh

I am on my way

I am on my way

I am on my way back to where I started

California, Oklahoma

I love the places I ain't ever been to

But down in the valley

With whiskey rivers

These are the places you will find me hiding

These are the places I will always go

These are the places I will always go

So I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade

Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways

I have seriously been loving this song lately. It's by a band out of Seattle called The Head and the Heart. I am lusting after their CD right now. Such a great folk rock/pop sound and I adore the lead singer's voice. There is so much going on in this song that resonates with different parts of my life. Sometimes the idea of jumping on a train and taking off is so appealing. The feeling of actually going somewhere is one of my favourite sensations. It's why I love airports so much. I think my favourite line in the entire song though is "I love the places I ain't ever been to". This is so true for me. I fantasize about travelling or moving all the time. I have a deep affection for some places that I've only been to once, some places that I have never been to at all. In a way these places can be the places you always go, they can become the places you return to over and over again when you are in need of refuge, even if you never actually set foot on them. Sometimes just thinking about running away is enough.

I took this picture at the train yard near my school a couple of years ago. I should actually venture out there again and take some more photos. This is one perk of living in the industrial part of the city: there are some interesting spots to take photos. There is something romantic and nostalgic about trains that just lends itself to sepia photos and folksy songs.

Empty

I handed in my last final this morning, so I am officially done for another year! Woohoo! I move out of the apartment tomorrow afternoon so I'm at the tail end of the packing process and my room is currently strangely empty. My desk had my computer, my bamboo, and a pile of makeup on it. If you have ever seen my desk on a normal day then you know that this is pretty remarkable. There's nothing on my shelves, the furniture I brought with me is gone, there is nothing on my walls (except my calander, which I just noticed I forgot to pack). I dislike sitting in empty rooms like this. In order to document the strange sense of emptiness that is currently in my room, I figured a picture of an empty coffee cup was appropriate. This is from the same coffee shop/internet cafe in Banff that we stopped at during choir tour my first year as this photo from a few weeks ago. That is exactly how my room is right now, just the residue of life left in it. It is very strange.

Worn Out

Hey. Sorry about the hiatus I've been on the past few days. I had a minor meltdown Tuesday night and then I spent Wednesday, Thursday, Friday writing exams and starting the slow and unsightly process of moving back home for the summer. Half of my belongings are now at the apartment and half of them are here at my parents' house. Fortuantely, I only have a take-home exam left and then I am free and clear. The unpacking process will be ugly (it always is), but I'm looking forward to having an organized room (because right now it really isn't). I'm feeling a bit worn out. Four exams in three days is pretty nasty. Although I know people who had five in three days, so at least I didn't have that. This rundown house and beat up car seemed to suit my mood. Exhausted. Yet there is still something gorgeous about them that just cries out be be documented photographically. I am in no way implying that the gorgeous part is also applicable to me, just the worn out part (although the other day one of my roommates told me that it is unfair that I can spend an entire day studying, go write an exam, and still look good at the end of the day...). Moving on, this picture is from one of the Easter breaks that I spent in Champion. There is definitely something about small towns. I think it is best described as charm. Cities don't tend to have charm, many other positive attributes, but it seems that charm is a quality almost exclusive to small towns. I like it.

To Heal a Soul

Music is like a drug for me. I live my life to an almost continual soundtrack. This was the first year that I wasn't in some sort of formal music class (piano lessons, voice lessons, choir) and I have been going through serious bouts of withdrawal. It's a good thing I have a piano in my apartment and a vast (and ever growing) library of music on my computer. Music is what keeps me sane. It can turn my mood around or it can make whatever I'm feeling that much more intense, depending on what I want. Music energizes me. I never grow tired of discovering new artists and always love making music whether it is a casual jam session or just playing the piano or singing in choir. There is simply something magical in music.

I actually had a completely different post planned for today, but then tonight my roommates convinced me to abandon my plans of being incredibly productive and go to the acoustic cafe night that was going on in the dorm lounge. I was really reluctant because I was super tired and stressed. I forgot how amazing it can be to listen to someone playing guitar and singing live and how much fun it is when everybody knows the song and sings along. It completely turned my mood around. I'm feeling energized (although that will end as soon as I crawl into bed and turn out the lights) and just so much more relaxed. Music to heal a soul. This picture just seemed right.

I love this picture a lot. I played with the color a bit after I took it, but the warmth just seemed appropriate for the music (it's from Schumann's "Kinderszenen" Op. VII "Träumeri" - positively beautiful).

The caffeine isn't helping...

Sorry that I missed posting last night. I went to see "The Glass Menagerie" at the Citadel and then crashed at my parents' house and didn't have my computer with me. So here is what I had planned to post yesterday. I'll probably still put something up tonight. On a related note: "The Glass Menagerie" is probably one of my all-time favorite plays and the rendition at the Citadel right now is beautifully acted and uses music in a truly wonderful way. Despite the fact that I was completely exhausted, it was a lovely evening.

This picture pretty much sums up how I (and most people I know) have been feeling the past few days and how I'm probably going to feel for quite a while given the fact that those of us in the school world have had papers, final projects, and the looming prospect of exams descend on us. I took it on choir tour my first year at King's. It was a rainy/snowy afternoon in Jasper so a few of us decided to hole up in an internet cafe for a while and enjoy some chai lattes. We were pretty tired though so sitting down in a warm place made us a bit sleepy. That day in Jasper is one of my fondest memories of university.

Art

The new Art Gallery of Alberta (www.youraga.ca) building opened at the end of January and since I am a bit of an art nut I was pretty excited to go and check it out. I finally made it out this afternoon with a bunch of people from my literary theory class. And it was DEFINITELY worth it. The building itself has caused a bit of controversy and I'm not really sure I like how it looks. Sometimes I think it's cool and other times I just think it's weird. But, from the inside it is pretty sweet. The stairs between level are inside the swoopy (very technical term) bits of the building so it looks pretty sweet inside. They don't have their permanent collections out yet, but the current exhibits are pretty awesome: Degas (his "Two Dancers" is probably my favorite piece of artwork), Goya, Karsh (who must have had an incredible life since he met so many famous people through his work as a portrait photographer), and a couple of installation pieces by Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller ("Storm Room" and "The Murder of Crows", both of which are really cool but thouroughly creeped me out). All in all it was an absolutely lovely way to spend an afternoon.

So, since I'm thinking about art I was trying to find a picture that related to this somehow and I remembered these posters that were in a coffee shop in Toronto. Now, this is a pretty amazing coffee shop in the Distillery District of Toronto (which, by the way, is probably my dream address should I ever move to Toronto). They have all of these really old ads for coffee companies that are pretty awesome. I spent forever just staring at them. This particular image is of the wall and most of the poster that was just above the table I was sitting at the first time I went there. The space just lent itself to sepia tone photography. I love the industrial feeling of the exposed brick and metal light fixtures and (although you can't see it in this picture) exposed duct work in the ceiling. Anyway, I think that these posters qualify as art. The idea of what constitutes art intrigues me because I think it is really difficult to define. I'll spare you my ramblings on this subject for now. I'm always up for a good conversation about such topics though.