Heart-achingly Beautiful

heart-ache, n.
1. Pain in the heart; formerly = HEARTBURN
2. Pain or anguish of mind, esp. that arising from disappointed hope or affection.


I find the phrase "heart-achingly beautiful" rather useful at certain times of my life. When I am moved by something tremendously beautiful, I actually experience a physical sensation of heart-ache. Lately life has been heart-achingly beautiful; there is just so much joy kicking around that my heart feels a little full, and, consequently, a little achy in the best possible way.

Well hello, long weekend!

I am currently listening to the soundtrack from Smash and getting ready to meet up with a couple friends to sip beers on a patio in the sunshine. I think this long weekend is off to a rather excellent start.

Close to Home

Sometime around 7.30 the light outside became absolutely exquisite again, so I roused myself from my office and wandered around the block taking pictures. I really hope no one was looking out their windows at the time, because I probably looked like a crazy person (at one point I may or may not have crawled underneath a bush in front of the house next to mine...).

When the light's like this...

...I have to take a picture. Or two. Or ten.

Adventure and Passion

I see life in angles, in lines of perspective, a slight turn of the head, the blink of an eye. Subtle glimpses other folk might pass by. Cameras help me translate, interpret, and understand what I see. It's a simple act that keeps me grinning. I never set out to become anything in particular, only to live creatively and push the scope of my experience through adventure and through passion.

-- Mickey Smith, Dark Side of the Lens

If you haven't watched Dark Side of the Lens yet, do it. Now. I can't properly explain how inspiring I find this video. It's stunningly shot and exquisitely narrated. The twin ideas of adventure and passion are things I've been trying to incorporate into my life more. Or, rather, they are things I've been trying to follow more regularly. I'm starting to learn that I will never regret saying yes to an adventure, and I'm starting to try to shape a life for myself that is defined by my passions, no matter how impractical it may seem. Apologies if you feel like I've been harping on about this particular video, since I posted a couple of quotes from it on my other blog, and shared it on Facebook. When I find something this good, something that articulates things I'm trying to wrestle to the ground this clearly, I have to share it with everyone I know.

Light limited, light specific, light like a name

from "Lake of Two Rivers"
Anne Michaels

     3

Sensate weather, we are your body,
your memory. Like a template,
branch defines sky, leaves
bleed their gritty boundaries,
corrosive with nostalgia.

Each year we go outside to pin it down,
light limited, light specific,
light like a name.


Like any good academic, I have moments where school just isn't my favourite thing in the world. This blog is certainly a record of that, if of nothing else. Right now I'm working on my thesis. I have to hand in a chapter by Saturday, which is incredibly daunting and stressful if I think about it too long, but is also thrilling and exciting. Right now I'm working on my chapter on Anne Michaels, which means that I've been spending my time immersed in her magnificent poetry. The particular little excerpt from "Lake of Two Rivers" is particularly relevant for my thesis topic. And it captures a little bit of how I feel about light and nature and photography. Plus it is just blindingly gorgeous. On top of this I've been reading essays by Anne Simpson and Jan Zwicky to use as critical material in the chapter. It is moments like this that I feel profoundly blessed to be doing what I am doing. It is moments like this that I seriously contemplate taking a PhD because I don't know what else I could possibly be doing with my life.

Late Nights and Early Mornings

With the end of the term upon us, I've been seeing a lot of this intermediary time. Those wee little hours that are ostensibly morning but feel more like night. Those hours where everything seems a little surreal. Where everything is both less important and more intense. This feels a little bit like a homecoming for me. These hours are my most natural habitat. They are when I am the most creative, the most verbose, the most gregarious, the most connected with myself and my world. They are also when I am at my most vulnerable, my most melancholy, my most contemplative. It's a strange existence for a strange time.

Here

I kind of love living here.


This past week was long and difficult, but somehow confirmed for me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

The way to fairyland

There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth, they must dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland. -- L.M. Montgomery

I love this idea. If you read this blog on a regular basis you've probably figured out that I'm rather fond of the idea of fairies and magic. After all, one of my all-time favourite books is J.M. Barrie's Peter and Wendy, and Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens is also way up there, so you can't really expect anything else. This is one of those little things that helps make me who I am, but that I avoid talking about with most people. It tends to make you sound like you're six if you start talking about how cool fairies are. So I would like to thank L.M. Montgomery for validating my affection for all things magical. And for reminding me that I'm not a totally bitter curmudgeon just yet.

Doesn't mean anything, really

"Just because somebody likes something doesn't mean...anything, really." 

-- Zooey Deschanel in New York Magazine

I have a major girl crush on Zooey Deschanel, so I was eagerly anticipating the premiere of New Girl. I don't have a tv so I downloaded it on itunes (free, baby!). And I loved it. It was sweet and quirky and funny and touching. Quality television right there. In the lead up to the show I read this article in New York Magazine and this quote stuck with me. It comes in the context of talking about the age of social networking and how we think if we know everything that someone likes - their taste in books and movies and music -- that we know them. I thought this was really insightful. It really doesn't mean anything. Just because you share musical tastes with someone doesn't mean you are going to be best friends. It really does mean nothing. Yeah, it means you know a little bit about them, but it doesn't mean you know who they are. You're kind of missing out on some of the most important things. I liked this quote for another reason too. We put so much stock in what we like. I know I do. I mean, this whole blog is basically a tribute to things that I like. Sometimes it's good to remember that it doesn't actually matter all that much.

So, here's a picture I took on the way to Edmonton last weekend. I like it. Maybe that doesn't mean anything, really.

Don't Let Your Feet Touch Ground

Don't Let Your Feet Touch Ground
Ash Koley

Standing up straight I'm ten feet tall
I like this look, I love you all
A hundred feet off the ground it seems
That a beautiful day is gracing me

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down

I pull my boots up to my knees
No coats or hats, thank you please
I dig up dirt and I find no wrong
All while singing a silly song

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down

There are no mistakes
Up in our secret place
We're not just getting by
Everything is fine

Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down
Don't let your feet touch ground
And don't look down


I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Edmonton for a wedding of two friends. It was absolutely crazy, but absolutely worth it. As we were taking off from Halifax on Friday night, this song came on my iPod. So fitting right? And isn't this a pretty rocking view from the plane window? I sure thought so.

Daily Magic

Sunsets are the exclamation marks that end the day. And they are especially memorable when we are on vacation and actually have time to sit and enjoy the spectacle of the sun sinking into something other than a sea of rush-hour traffic.

We love sunsets because we love their bold drama, almost kitschy with all those oranges and reds. The angle of light throws everything - from palm trees to elephants - into silhouette. Photographers know the best sunsets have some clouds onstage to give those rays a wispy canvas on which to paint.

Then there's the grand finale, the visual equivalent of a musical crescendo, when the yolk melts into the ocean or cracks against a mountain ridge. And finally comes silence. Soft purples and a big sigh flood the landscape, and I often find myself wanting to applaud.

Those three paragraphs, a clipping from an article in the travel section, have been tacked to my bulletin board since some time in high school. I am a sucker for sunsets and this writer captured the sensation of watching one of these daily magical events.

Back in the Saddle

There is nothing to motivate me to pick up my camera again like the silhouette of my neighbours' trees against a lovely sunset. This brief excursion, however, only cemented my desire to go somewhere for the sole purpose of enjoying myself and taking photos. Now if I could just think of somewhere to go in the city...

The End

I am officially finished my undergrad degree.

It's weird. I'm so excited to be done. And I'm proud that I made it through. And I'm just tired because I've been pushing so hard for the last month or so. But the reality is starting to hit me now. Sitting in my room at my parents' house typing this I am beginning to realize just how final this is. Yes, there is still grad, but not everyone goes to grad. I have friends that I likely will never see again. I feel like this last year at school I finally found a community that I really loved. And having that ripped away is a bit painful.

There I go again, turning something that should just be plain old exciting into something deeply melancholy. Not one of my more attractive qualities.

This is the sunset from a couple of days ago. Shot through my window at an exceptional distance, hence the haziness. But I really love the colours. It was almost as if the sky was on fire. It seemed appropriate for this moment in my life. Both beautiful and a little bit scary.

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.

It's (Finally) Close of Day

The Red - Blaze - is the Morning -
The Violet - is Noon -
The Yellow - Day - is falling -
And after that - is None -

But Miles of Sparks - at Evening -
Reveal the Width that burned -
The Territory Argent- that never yet consumed -

-- Emily Dickinson

Today was incredibly draining so I don't really have the energy to put together a hardcore post tonight. I am so excited for it to be over. I adore this poem by Emily Dickinson though, so I thought I would share it with all of you. I took this picture a couple of weeks ago while I was walking to the grocery store. Evidence that it is not crazy to always carry a camera with you. I know it is kind of grainy/blurry, but I kind of like that about it. I find that it almost makes it look like a painting instead of a photograph. I think that's kind of cool.

October's got those orange eyes

Broken Horse

Freelance Whales

October's got those orange eyes

But somehow I still lost sight

When you lifted the lid off of my pumpkin head

And kissed me goodnight

Should it be a thorn in my side

We never quite broke that horse

She slept in the cul-de-sac rye

Seven miles from my front porch

Bundle up and come with me now

Down the road to the burnt down barn

We could make a blanket of coats

And breathe our souls into the neighbour's front lawn

But oh God that look in your eye

Trouble that does not search words

It sprung from the biblical vine

And are waiting to return to the dirt

The stiches in your winter clothes

Your cello bows

We stole your hair to make them

We're sorry for the iron shoes

We nailed to you

And stuck you in the rain

Then you sprinted away

Sprinted away to where I don't know

God's moving in your bloodstream

Where the crossbeats aren't so slow

You swept all the red from my cheeks

I didn't hear you come back inside

And light up the gas in the den

And stand there in the thin winter light

But oh God that curve in your spine

A question mark

A doctor's sign was framed by the windowsill

And you saw something I did not in the night

You saw something I did not in the night

The stitches in your winter clothes

Your cello bows

We stole your hair to make them

We're sorry for the iron shoes

We nailed to you

And stuck you in the rain

And then you sprinted away

Sprinted away to where I don't know

God's moving in your bloodstream

Where the crossbeats aren't so slow

I first discovered this song a couple of weeks ago via one of little chief honeybee's Monday Mixtapes. I adore her mixtapes. They have introduced me to so many new artists that I am now profoundly in love with. The opening lines of this song seemed rather appropriate for October 1.

This is another picture from last weekend's trip to the river valley. I like how the leaves are just starting to turn red and orange on this particular branch. Plus the light was just so profoundly amazing for photos.

Ten Things...Soaked in a golden light

I was in the middle of posting this last night when suddenly my computer decided that there were no wireless networks in range (despite the fact that there were definitely multiple options available). Now the relationship between my computer and the internet has been tenuous at best lately, but normally they get over whatever tiff they are having fairly quickly. Not last night though. No, no. For hours my little laptop persisted in the belief that there was no internet for it to connect to. Eventually I just gave up, went to bed, and decided that no one would die if I posted this week's Ten Things on a Monday.

One of the most delightful things about the weather we have been having lately is the light. Sunset drenches the world in liquid gold and I simply can't help smiling. Light fascinates me. I've talked about that a few times on this blog. It is one of my great frustrations with taking a photo when I can't capture the light. There is something mysterious and magical about light. So, here are ten posts dedicated to sunlight.

1. Brilliant
2. Sunsets
3. Gorgeous
4. Sunset on the Harbour
5. Daydreams of Sunshine
6. Inspiration in Black and White
7. This is Calm
8. Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
9. Picture Perfect Ending
10. The Road Less Traveled By

This is Calm

This is Calm

Christopher Dallman

So this is calm.

Should I feel optimistic?

Should I greet the sun with a smile?

‘Cause as it is

I roll to my side

And I lay there for a good long while.

So this is calm.

Should I feel okay?

And should this okay set my inspiration reeling?

Should I feel like I am pulled in all directions?

I feel no pull.

I feel nothing.

I ride the train from Queens to Morningside.

I keep my eyes straight ahead,

Keep my face dignified.

But is this linear or a downward slide?

This is calm.

This is calm.

When I asked you to leave

You threw your wine at the wall

And it bled down

Red on white.

My stomach did not turn,

And I could not match your tears.

I just stood there thinking,

“What a beautiful sight.”

I ride the train from Queens to Morningside.

I keep my eyes straight ahead,

Keep my face dignified.

But is this linear or a downward slide?

This is calm.

I guess I should feel like I can do anything,

But I can’t do anything at all.

I can’t do anything but fall down on my knees

At the whims of my dreams.

I can not do this to myself anymore,

Stay so strong.

Still, this is my voice.

I wonder why I can’t feel this.

I wonder why I can’t feel this.

I wonder why I can’t feel these questions in my throat.

I don’t know how,

I don’t know how to live,

But I will learn to live,

To stand,

To breathe,

To taste,

To love.

I will move on.

I ride the train from Queens to Morningside.

I keep my eyes straight ahead,

Keep my face dignified.

But is this linear or a downward slide?

I felt very calm all day today. While I enjoy being calm, there is always a part of me that finds it odd. I'm naturally a relatively high-strung person, so I spend a lot of my time stressed out and running on overdrive. For some reason though I was completely calm today despite being at work. It was kind of interesting. I love this song by Christopher Dallman. He has genuinely gorgeous songs, this particular one is from his "Race the Light" CD. If you've never heard his stuff you should definitely check it out. The lyrics of every song are poignant and beautiful and the instrumental arrangements are fabulous. I like that this song captures the strangeness of feeling calm. It's like you've forgotten something and you aren't quite sure whether it is a good thing that you are so calm.

I took this picture in Victoria last summer. Despite living in a landlocked city and not being someone with a fondness for beaches or swimming, I love being on the coast. There is something about the feeling of salty ocean air as the sun sets and the temperature drops that just can't be replicated anywhere else. I am always at my most content at sunset and twilight. I don't know why, but the world just seems to pause and take a giant, calming breath as the sun sets. Things melt away and the promise of a new day begins to creep in. I love that sensation. So, a picture of a sunset over the ocean seemed to capture the serenity I'm feeling right now.

Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning.

sublime Adjective describing a concept, thing, or state of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual value; or something awe-inspiring. The sublime was a goal to which many nineteenth-century artists aspired in their artworks. (Stokstad Art History)

I have mixed feelings about storms. For the most part I love them. There is something fascinating about them. I think it's the attraction of the sublime. Storms make you feel how little control you have over nature, they make you realize how tiny and insignificant you are in comparison with the rest of the world. There is something awe inspiring about that realization. And in a way I find that comforting. I can't control everything, and as much as I hate that, it is good to know that it's normal and that no one else can control everything either. We are all on equal footing when it comes to that. However, there is still something about storms that terrrifies me. I think it is just the knowledge of their destructive power. Being confronted with something that you know could kill you...I think fear is a healthy response to that. The sublime fascinates me though. It is so prevalent in art and literature. In particular, Canadian artists are fascinated with the sublimity of nature. The fact that we are completely at the mercy of an unforgiving climate has captivated this country's artists and writers since the first explorers arrived here. Our complicated relationship with nature is part of what defines us as Canadians. Margaret Atwood talks about the bush myth and how Canadians live in fear of nature so we group together and build cities, walls to keep nature out. And yet we are also people who go camping and backpacking. Extreme survival skills are something Canadians pride themselves on. Even those of us who live in cities brag about how we have lived through winters of -40C. I have friends who love winter camping, and part of the thrill is the survival aspect. We both fear and revere nature. We hide inside our houses and we attempt to convey the wildness of nature in art. I know this is true in my life and it is a pattern that is seen again and again in various forms of Canadian art. 

It is that point in the Alberta summer where the thunderstorms roll in, the severe storm watches are issued and tonadoes touch down. There was a storm tonight (lots of wind, but short lived) and it ended just as the sun was setting. I love when that happens because crazy weather creates awesome sunsets. Tonight was certainly no exception. Here's a peak at the reddish sky with the trees out back of the house silhouetted against it. So pretty.