Vanessa & Virginia

Told from the point of view of the artist Vanessa Bell as a fragmented series of notes to her sister Virginia Woolf, this is a wonderfully imagined book by Susan Sellers; and a courageous one. There are all kinds of gems here, her portrait of sibling rivalry, the inner life of an artist, the profound effect of family and time, the struggle to become; all are drawn with great power and beauty of writing.

Virginia Woolf in a deck chair, 1912, by Vanessa Bell

Virginia Woolf, oil on board, 1912, by Vanessa Bell

Some Love Affairs Start Early

I really wanted to finish 3 things in the studio yesterday so I could get back to charcoal. Seemed reasonable but as things sometimes go, doing the final cleanup on my edition of Elegy to Betty took way longer. Lots of the finishing up on these books is very quiet almost meditative work, checking each page for pencil marks, [for the folds] making sure each glued section didn't need a final trim. So as I worked away I started to think about this great love of books, of not just reading them but also making them. Of the number of books around the house and the need for more bookshelves. Of how some books are like friends and have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. How hard it is to get rid of books [they usually end up in the studio to find a new life]. Then I remembered an old photo of my Mum reading to me as I cuddled Teddy. Couldn't find that photo but I still have Teddy, rather mangled now from all the love showered on him by Zoe and I. She adored him as a puppy and I feared he might not make it through her kind of loving. Lovely day.

Elegy for Betty, finished and waiting for her slip cases

Teddy on the book shelves

Liz and Teddy

Sorry to be so late posting this morning, I had to finish reading Zeitoun by Dave Eggers, a harrowing, true story of one family from New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. A  scathing indictment.

In Praise Of Shadows

A friend [thanks Tina] suggested this book In Praise Of Shadows by Tanizaki, to me earlier in the week and it's a gem. It's an essay on the Japanese sense of beauty, on all things nuanced, glimpsed at, softened by age and shadows, understated, a quality of silence and fullness. Here is what he says about a room. “Whenever I see the alcove of a tastefully built Japanese room, I marvel at our comprehension of the secrets of shadows, our sensitive use of shadow and light. For the beauty of the alcove is not the work of some clever device. An empty space is marked off with plain wood and plain walls, so that the light drawn into its forms dim shadows within emptiness. There is nothing more. And yet, when we gaze into the darkness that gathers behind the crossbeam, around the flower vase, beneath the shelves, though we know perfectly well it is mere shadow, we are overcome with the feeling that in this small corner of the atmosphere there reigns complete and utter silence; that here in the darkness immutable tranquility holds sway.” 

And another paragraph I love. “With lacquer ware there is an extra beauty in that moment between removing the lid and lifting the bowl to the mouth, when one gazes at the still, silent liquid in the dark depths of the bowl, its colour hardly differing from that of the bowl itself. What lies within the darkness one cannot distinguish, but the palm senses the gentle movements of the liquid, vapour rises from within, forming droplets on the rim, and the fragrance carried upon the vapour brings a delicate anticipation ... a moment of mystery, it might almost be called, a moment of trance.”

Here is a link to a PDF version [link here] or you can order the book from Amazon [link here]

Reading

I have spent the last 4 days in sloth and torpor; and I love it. After Christmas and before New Years has to be one of my favourite times; with luck I spend it reading, on the sofa, in front of the fire. This year was a feast and some lovely coincidences. I started with a lovely and charming book by Donia Bijan, "Maman's Homesick Pie" followed by a short typescript by my mother in law, "A Trip To Persia" [1971].  My mother in law happens to be an amazing woman who turned 100 years old last fall and so it was great fun to then read "The 100 Year Old Man, who climbed out the window and disappeared", [Jonas Jonasson] one of the funniest murder mysteries I have read. And I keep dipping in and out of "Paintings on Paper, Josef Albers in America". So many friends have talked about this book and it is gorgeous. Then I might do an essay from "Madness, Rack, and Honey" [Mary Ruffle], then a few more liquorice allsorts,[ discretely hidden behind the stack of books].

A lovely stack of christmas reading

Feet up and contemplating

It's over for another year.  And while I love seeing family and friends I find Christmas exhausting, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Perhaps my favourite time is when it is all over, everyone has gone home, the house is still clean or as clean as it can be with Zoe, the fridge still jammed full with lovely bits that we have been given, and John and I put our feet up on the coffee table and contemplate which book out of the pile of goodies we received we will start to read. Bliss.

Feet up and contemplating which book.

A Lovely Stack of Reading

Is there anything more pleasurable than a stack of books waiting to be read? For years one of my biggest fears was running out of books. The stack would get low and panic would set in. Now, I could happily re-read most of the books on the shelves and find them new again. And, thank goodness, I have friends who read, not sure if they ever sleep, but they sure do read and are especially good about lending. So the coffee table is piled high and I am starting with the Rose Tremain, one of my favourite writers. If you haven't read Music and Silence, do;  it's a gem. With the show opening tonight all my major commitments are done for the moment so I intend to spend next week reading and cleaning up the studio and gardens. Maybe, even the house.

My lovely stack of books

Spring Runs High

Yesterday J and I went to Sherbrooke to see a show of artists books at the Musée, and while the books were gorgeous and the craftsmanship exquisite, there was a decidedly off putting feel to it. All the books were in vitrines, very few open, in fact most had bands of clear plastic holding the pages tight together. I realize that things need to be protected but for me one of the things I most love about artists books and books in general, is the touching, the feel of the paper, the heft of the very book itself.  Pass me the white gloves please. This was more of an historical survey of bookmaking in Quebec from the 1970's on.

Across the parking lot at the Musée is one of my favorite places in Sherbrooke. The Magog river runs a gorge through the city, meeting up with  the Saint-François (St. Francis) river; and in spring or after a heavy rain it's quite dramatic.  Lots of mist and thundering water, and the city has built an elevated walkway beside it that must be several kilometers long. A great place to spend time.

Dramatic spring run-off