One visit wasn't enough this fall, so I headed back to Stratford for two more plays, a lot of good food, in the best company. I'd always wanted to stay in the As You Like It Motel because... well, I hardly need to spell it out: it's called As You Like It! How sweetly saucy is that? It's an older establishment, spotless and so friendly. As You Like It - we'll be back, because it is... exactly how we like it!
Down the Street Bar and Restaurant is a popular hangout, but we were lucky to arrive for lunch a bit late, only to eat the BEST BURGER EVER. I can't say enough!
We visited Gerard Brender à Brandis's studio. Gerard is always fascinating to talk to - a charming and talented man, one of Canada's most accomplished wood engravers.
Okay, I'd eaten downstairs at Pazzo's before, where they have their delicious pizza ovens, but this time we ate upstairs in the more up-market taverna, sat in big leather wing chairs, in perfect comfort. We shared the most buttery, dripping bruschetta, laden with crab meat. M had the delicious lobster bisque and I had pasta. We didn't want to move... ever. The current plan is to move to Stratford so we can eat at Pazzo's EVERY Friday night.
We bought the official bags of swan food and had fun with the swans and quackies on Lake Victoria. The black swans are from Australia. There are heaps of white swans, and we saw two grey teenage swans (I guess). The one in the middle was very boldly interested in my swan food. Oh haiiiiii.
And remember the cats of Watson's Bazaar? They're all still alive, a little fatter, but two of the four now live elsewhere as apparently they were being a little naughty... not the sort of behaviour that goes down well in a china shop. And speaking of china, I could go mad in this place! So much lovely stuff to buy! P.S. The website says "Come visit our cats!"
As for the plays we saw? More on that in another post.
I went with a friend to the graduate show at the Ontario College of Art and Design... plus shopping for watercolour supplies at Above Ground Art Supplies which is right next door. Is there anything more alluring than the promise inside an art supply store? Well, I can think of a few things, if pushed, but I was in temptation heaven, and got all I need from that lovely, creaky old building. After, we retired to Sky Dragon in Chinatown, where it was too late to witness the little carts of dim sum being trolleyed around, but we still had a blow-out feast. I particularly enjoyed the steamed pea shoots. Gorrrr!
A week later my mother and I had a fantastic day together (ok, it was officially a Mother's Day celebration but we don't need to be told when to celebrate, but I don't mind another excuse). We visited a favourite museums, the Gardiner, and then saw Kon Tiki, a movie I'll blether on about in another post. Before the movie, we went to Lee Chen, which we had discovered together this past winter. It's on the west side of Yonge, just north of Bloor. The broth was as fresh and delicious as before, but this time we discovered the "bao," a Chinese sandwich you can build yourself, on a very soft, steamed bun. We had the pork option, deciding that for our next visit we'll try some of the others... a sort of bao taste test. Okay, my mouth is really watering. Let's just look at some pictures while I blot my chin. (Heh, heh, just kidding... sort of).
Peter Sellars is a rare talent, a brilliant director, and a loving and compassionate human being. I was lucky to attend this discussion and another. In both instances this last winter, where I got to hear him talk, he brought me to tears. Then I saw his production of Tristan und Isolde, and was blown away by this game-changing production. A large video screen dominated the stage, and showed video artist Bill Viola's stunning moving images. The singers, including Ben Heppner as Tristan, were accompanied sublimely by the COC Orchestra, and I felt those musical vibrations go right through me. Film + opera. My cup overflowed.
I've said it before on my blog - but for me the purpose of art is to take you places you weren't expecting to go. It's not always positive but it's always an adventure and sometimes (we hold out for those rare occasions) it's transformative.
Here's the video. I really hope you'll take the time to watch it. You don't have to be an opera fan!
The National Theatre presented This House, a new play by James Graham, which covered five years (1974 - 1979) in the House of Commons and, most particuarly, the offices of the party whips. I'm hopelessly ignorant when it comes to politics, but this was the play for me. The art of the possible was made furious, funny and fast-paced. Time flew and I laughed and gasped and ruminated over that very troubled time in Britain's history. Thank you to NTLive for making it possible to see in Toronto!
The ARC Ensemble is a blog favourite. I was lucky to see them in performance the week before they took the same program to Wigmore Hall in London. From the program: "The ensemble plays a leading role in unearthing repertoire that has been suppressed or ignored due to political circumstances, or shifts in musical fashion, and its work has received unanimous acclaim from the world's cultural press." Currently, the ensemble's "Music in Exile" series "explores the music of composers who were forced to flee Europe during the 1930s..." I have never attended a performance of this ensemble that wasn't absolutely riveting. I urge you to see them whenever you can. As for the performance I saw, we heard works by Weinberg, Laks, Mendelssohn (a manuscript fragment completed by pianist David Louie, an ARC Ensemble member), and finally Ben-Haim's Piano Quartet in C Minor (1921), which was, if I had to pick one, the highlight. ARC Ensemble CDs are Grammy-nominated and you can buy from links on here. The good news is that they've just recorded a new CD, entirely of Ben-Haim's work, which is due for release this summer. For more of the performance I saw, you can read an excellent review here, which says it all much better than I could.
Much community theatre in Toronto proves that it isn't necessary how much you spend on a ticket or whether or not your performers are paid... you will still see really good theatre! I had a wonderful time at Etobicoke Musical Production's The Drowsy Chaperone, an affectionate and witty musical homage to Cole Porter and the Gershwins. The story behind the making of this piece is worthy of a musical itself! Originally a stag-night sketch, it then moved to the Toronto Fringe Festival, then to a large-scale Mirvish production, and finally Broadway, where it won Tony awards for Best Book and Best Score! The show itself is froth and fun, and especially enjoyed if you know some of those classical shows. Outstanding in this production (directed by the virtuosic Mario D'Alimonte) was Man in Chair, the narrator of the piece, played by Trevor Cartlidge.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland has been a big hit for the Royal Ballet and was a sell-out during both its runs here in Toronto at the National Ballet of Canada. I saw it in another HD transmission, and it was a riot.
Joby Talbot wrote the music for Alice, as he did for his Path of Miracles, which I saw performed by the virtuosic Elmer Iseler Singers a few weeks ago. Path of Miracles is performed a cappella and describes "the ancient Christian pilgrimage across Northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela, the city whose cathedral is the supposed resting place of St. James." The performance was preceded by a presentation from Barbara Manners, a woman who has done the walk and showed us slides that had me yearning to strap on some walking boots, even after she showed us one of an award-winning blister. The performance itself was mesmerizing. For those of you who don't live in Canada and haven't heard of them, they're a 20-voice chamber choir who record and perform widely - not to be missed if possible!
A group of us attended the launch of Eliana Cuevas's new CD, Espejo. Catch her if you can!
P. S. On the side, Eliana is also our Spanish teacher!
I indulged my opera appetite with three great productions at the COC this spring: Lucia di Lammermoor, Dialogues des Carmélites, and Salome (twice, as I had to see this blog's favourite bass-baritone, Alan Held, who didn't sing the first performance I saw, but sang later ones). Carmélites provided a lesson for me - on the importance of seeing any performance live. I watch the Met in HD and the National Theatre from London the same way because it's way cheaper than me flying there every few weeks! Let's face it - that's not going to happen. But when you see anything filmed, you are being told what to focus on by the broadcast director. I saw how this works particuarly with Carmélites, as the COC was performing the same production I had watched on DVD from La Scala. There is no comparison. The live experience was extraordinary, under the genius direction of Robert Carsen. I've seen this opera three times before, and it remains as powerful as ever. The ending is one of the greatest in all theatre.
I was attending the opening of a friend's art show on Markham Street and when we came out, inspired and hungry, I saw the sign for Southern Accent a few doors north. I'd forgotten all about it; I guess the last time I'd eaten there must have been about 12 years ago at least.
The blackened chicken livers were recommended to me then, and I had them again. SO GOOD. Served with garlic toasts and swimming in butter. Yum. The interior of the restaurant is funky and comfortably shabby - my kind of place.
The following week, having a couple of hours to kill between a beautiful memorial recital in honour of the great accompanist Martin Issep, and a stunning concert by the Elmer Eiseler singers at St. Mary Magdalene's, I - er - returned. In the meantime, the weather had warmed up and we sat outside. I can still taste those livers... the warm, buttery, garlicky scent wafting up around me as I spread a perfectly tender liver over a garlic toast. Double yum.
My mind has been racing with, for my soul anyway, a few too many theatrical offerings. One of the great gifts of art, as I've said before, is to take you to unexpected places, surprising thoughts, moving revelations, and previously unasked questions. But when it gets too densely packed in, there isn't the room and the time to ponder what has been seen and felt. I need that space and time.
I'm resisting the gluttony our society offers in its many different forms, one of them being over stimulation from entertainment. It is, in its way, another form of addiction or, at least, indulgence for the sake of distraction. I turn on my tv less, and there are only four tickets on the pinboard for future events.
As the challenging months of January and February are passed and my senses perk up in the knowledge that with March underway, and spring is not far behind, I feel the urge to leave behind the dark and wondrous theatre auditoriums, and be outside, absorbing the greatest art of all, our natural world. Spring sap will be working its magic in me as well as my beloved trees. It's time to turn my energies to the physical connection I have with the rest of the world, to my own creativity, and to love.
But... I also need to catch up in this space on some of the great performances I've seen recently. There's been at least one game-changer.
Now I just have to write my thoughts down... dagnabit.
ONCE UPON A TIME... IMPRESSIONISM (although on the website they spell it with two "n"s)
October 13, 2012 to January 20, 2013
In
a long line of fabulously wealthy Americans amassing art, Sterling
Clark and his French actress wife, Francine, amassed a remarkable
collection, and - while their Art Institute in Williamstown,
Massachussetts undergoes expansion work - 74 of the paintings are
touring Asia, Europe and, in its only Canadian stop, Montreal, at the
Museum of Fine Art.
"Seventy-four
paintings by Bonnard, Corot, Degas, Gauguin, Manet, Millet, Monet,
Morisot, Pissarro, Sisley and Toulouse-Lautrec, including a selection of
twenty-one outstanding canvases by Renoir, and the Degas sculpture
Little Dancer Aged Fourteen (on view exclusively in Montreal) will be
shown at the MMFA. The inclusion of academic works by Bouguereau, Gérôme
and Stevens, among others, will enable visitors to see how the new
‘modernism’ challenged official painting.”
I was a bit
taken aback when I got into the ticket line when a friendly volunteer
informed me that there were no timed tickets, so there seemed to be no
control as to how many people toured the venue at any one time. I don't
know if it's a Montreal thing, but everything seemed to flow well. I
still spentt most of the time ducking, bobbing, weaving, and apologizing
as I listened to the excellent audio guide. But the exhibit was
excellent.
The canvasses were stunning. There is that
faint surprise when you see a picture you've viewed many times or on tea
towels or postcards suddenly loom large and in living colour before
you. It was Rousseau's Farm in the Landes (1844 - 67) that
brought tears to my eyes. Of course, it's riddled with trees, which are
pretty much my favourite thing in the whole world. The life in the
painting and the obvious devotion he poured into it over 20 years is
palpable.
Anything with trees in it captivated me, like Monet's Geese in the Brook (1874).
I learned that Renoir's A Box at the Theater (At the Concert) (1880)
originally had a male figure standing to the right behind the young
ladies. Apparently you can still see his form somewhat in the red
curtain backdrop. I can't.
But
I love the contrasts in black and white, in sauciness and demureness,
and how the younger girl's nose seems to be coming in dangerous
collision with the other lady's elbow.
The rebellious
Impressionists are now achingly mainstream. But an exhibition like this,
excellently laid out, lit, paced... dispells the chocolate box overkill
and instilled in me a renewed awe for some of our greatest artists.
Great art is a wondrous thing. I don't know how it works, but it works on me. I don't have to understand it, or even always like it, but I relish where it takes my thoughts and feelings. I can't live without it.
As it happened, I saw two more operas this spring.
The Canadian Opera Company's Semele caused a bit of a sensation. Visual artist Zhang Huan set the Handel opera in a 400-year-old temple. An actual Ming dynasty temple. The story behind the production was fascinating: a Chinese man, who lived with his wife and son some 20 or 25 years ago in the temple, was executed by firing squad for killing his wife's suspected lover. The widow sold the temple bit by bit to survive. Zhang bought what was remained of it and reconstructed it in his studio in Shanghai. The opera itself has a story set in Greek myth, about a silly girl who wishes for immortality. Her lover just HAPPENS to be the god Jupiter, but Juno, his wife, isn't happy about that - no wonder - and sets about her revenge. Zhang saw a link and so his production was born. He brought the universality of suffering and the impermanence of life to the stage in a manner I cannot imagine bettered. The overture was played as a silent black and white film was projected. The temple's story was told by the villagers and the widow. As a time lapse sequence showed the reconstruction of the temple in Zhang's studio, so the curtain lifted, and there it was. I was surprised to find tears in my eyes.
There was some fuss about the saucier goings on in the production: the temple's horizontal beams were all huge, two-headed phalluses, a two-person-operated donkey sported a ginormous erection, etc., etc., but it seemed that the greater part of the audience were as struck as I was. Of course, the vocal pyrotechnics and delicious stage presence of such stars as Jane Archibald, sent it over the top.
The final touch was the addition of a temple sweeper, a woman who silently appeared on stage at the start and end of the performance. She was, in fact, the widow herself. Just another stunning night of theatre at the COC (OK, some of you know that I may be biased, but I mean it).
A fraction of the production costs of Semele provided a no-less thrilling evening when I saw Against the Grain's production of Britten's The Turn of the Screw. This is a small, roguish company, made up of a handful of Toronto's finest opera/music talents, many of whom have been associated with the COC in some way. They've been around a couple of years, and their Bohème, which was performed in a pub, garnered attention and respect, and I could kick myself for not seeing it. It's not too late though! Waste no time, readers: do yourselves a favour and check them out next time they're in production.
The Turn of the Screw was performed at the Helen Gardiner Phelan Playhouse in a space that could hold no more than about 90, by my estimation. A long room, flanked on both sides by three rows of seats, with the performance area running down the middle, was simply decorated with broken tiles on the floor, and dried leaves gathered, no doubt, from the University of Toronto's playing fields just outside. The costumes were period, the piano was orchestral, the acting filmic, the singing excellent, the effect chilling. Afterwards, our small group retired to that lovely sunken living room to talk animatedly about opera, theatre and much more into the small hours.
In the last few years I've started avoiding those big museum or gallery exhibits, I mean the really big league ones. One of the last I attempted was a timed-ticket Van Gogh exhbit in Philadelphia. I just walked in, and walked through, dodging the deep crowds wandering zombie-like with their special exhibit headphones plugged in. The next day I was lucky enough to visit the Delaware Art Museum, not tiny, but not huge, but perfectly wonderful with its famous collection of Pre-Raphaelite Art. Why then would I now settle for anything less than this modestly sized perfection?
Well, curiosity made me attend the Chagall exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario recently. But again, I just whipped through it, unable to really take in the splendour of his art. I couldn't get close to anything. As tall as I am, there were too many heads in the way. All my energy was taken dodging others. The Waterhouse exhibit in Montreal was a medium-sized exhibition, appeal wise, and that is part of why I loved it. Damn, I still think about that show.
Why am I going on about this? To introduce my favourite sort of museum or gallery: the small boutique version, whose focus is never going to be King Tut or the French Impressionists, and so will never attract the gazillions that, bless their hearts, can say they've attended, but really... can these shows be enjoyed? Not by me.
The Gardiner Museum in Toronto focuses on ceramics and it does so beautifully. Its history is a short and interesting one, and
you can read about it here. For a decade or so it was run by the large
Royal Ontario Museum across the street (you remember, where I had Freddy the Fossil identified?). It's independent again, but I
have a souvenir of its ROM time hanging framed in my kitchen. I LOVE this
poster.
The Gardiner has wonderful pieces, ancient and modern. It's an intimate look at our civilization, and at times its completely gobsmacking. I love the little commedia dell'arte figurines, the snuff boxes, and - of course - the chocolate services from the 18th century. Such tiny cups! Well it's hardly surprising if you consider how costly the newly discovered intoxicant was. Those teeny portions are the complete antithesis of our super-big-gulp servings of soda pops and other drivel. On my last visit to the Gardiner over the Christmas break, I saw an exhibit, The Tsar's Cabinet: The Luxury and Romance of the Romanovs. Stunning, but no wonder there was a revolution. How many hundreds-of-settings services does anyone need? Splendid but slightly sickening. Anyway, to end my ramble, I just wanted to say, if you live here, or if
you're visiting, please visit the Gardiner Museum. It's a little gem.
Persephone is one of the gazillion characters you can read about in Greek mythology. She's the daughter of Zeus (the big guy) and Demeter, goddess of the harvest and the underworld. It's no wonder then that Persephone (or Proserpina in Roman mythology) was the goddess of vegetation.
She was wooed by different gods, but her mother chased them all off. At Zeus's bidding, Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, kidnapped Persephone, taking her to his dark lair. The crops withered or some such, and the potential starvation of the people convinced Zeus to make Hades return Persephone. There was some daft rule that anyone who had consumed food in the Underworld was forced to remain there. Tricky Hades had managed to persuade Persephone to eat four pomegranate seeds. This small consumption forced her to return to the Underworld for a period of each year, and that happened to coincide when the earth becomes barren!
I, too, have been cast in to my own personal hell. My naturopath informs me that pomegranates are inflammatory to my blood type (AB positive).
No... NO... NOOOOO!!!
And now for some art to soothe the soul... Dante Gabriel Rossetti's painting of Persephone (1874). His model was Jane Morris (William Morris's wife and Rossetti's mistress). See the pom in her hand? Lucky! I have a good poster of this framed in my living room. Who said that after the age of 30 you shouldn't have reproduction art in your home? Not me.
Sigh. The occasional bit won't hurt, but it won't be... like it was.
When I read quietly, my lips move. What's that about? It's generally considered a lame tactic, but - well - that's what I do. I think part of it is that I was lucky enough to be read to as a child, and still love, love, love being read to now. If I can't be read to in person by someone who's reading just for me, well I'll take an audio book. The human voice, with all its modulations, can be the most beautiful sound in the world. I do some voice-over work too, so sounding out words is something I'm used to. I hear the words in my head, whether I'm reading for pleasure or work.
That got me to thinking about the pleasure of reading and the evolution of my reading which is now including the graphic novel. What started as a devotion to the Tin Tin books is now evolving. I was blown away by the virtuoso writing of Alan Moore's Watchmen. The illustrations added a layer that showed me how the words and images work together, and cannot be imagined apart. I just finished another Moore graphic novel, From Hell, loaned to me by someone who knows way more than I do of the genre. Again, I was riveted and moved, frightened and energized, with many more ideas for books I want to read, by Moore and, well, more. What a sweet surprise amidst the grimness of From Hell (which theorizes about the identity of Jack the Ripper) to find a cameo by a personal hero of mine.
William Morris!
And now the same guy has lent me The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, parts one and two. Excellent!
Last summer I had the good fortune to see Le otto stagioni at the Sony Centre. Otto stagioni (eight seasons) was made by adding Piazzolla's Las cuatro estaciones porteñas (The Four Seasons of Buenos Aires) to Vivaldi's Le quattro stagioni (The Four Seasons). So, four seasons plus four seasons equals eight seasons. The seasons were sort of... mixed up, and the Italian Baroque met the tango deliciously well, and - as much as I'm not a fan of mixing up pieces like this in a sort of wackily melodious salad - I enjoyed it, as performed by the La Scala Chamber Orchestra.
Now, as it happened, a few weeks before that I also saw a wonderful documentary called Milk War, which has won the James Beard Foundation Award (sort of food Oscars!).It tells the latest instalment in Michael Schmidt's story, as his organic dairy farm is raided and he is charged with criminal offences, namely the distribution of unpasteurized milk.
It's a chilling viewing. The arguments against Schmidt are uninformed and backwards in thinking. Schmidt argues for choice in the matter of milk, and standards, which - currently - are not in place, opening up the possiblity of something going very wrong, sooner than later.
Narrated by Colm Feore and made for not very much money, it's a must-see for anyone out there worried about the food they consume and the big agri-business behind so much of it.
Coincidentally - and I love links like this! - Michael Schmidt is not only a bold and determined and somewhat eccentric farmer, he's also an impresario, hosting music performances in his farm's magnificent barn. Symphony in the Barn is a Durharm county highlight. I only attended once (I'd love to go again), and the performance I attended?... Le otto stagioni! It was magical. Sitting there in the barn, the music began, played by black-clad, barefoot young musicians in the rafters, accompanied by the songs of the birds that congregate up there. The musicians slowly descended from the huge beams, and the performance began, with the participation of two very striking tango dancers. Nature and art together. Perfection. And what Schmidt does with his milk, with his compassionately raised and slaughtered meat is another sort of art, and one I hope he can continue expressing for a long time. The man has a battle on his hands and I hope you will read up on the links in this blog post for more information! By the way, unpasteurized milk is legal in the U.K. The Royal Family supports it.
Another fine food documentary I saw this year was Kings of Pastry (2009) or, as I like to call it, The Anti-Food Network Show. Every four years (like the Olympics), competitors vie to win the celebrated red, white and blue collar, indicating that they are MOFs (Meilleur Ouvrier de France, or Best Craftsman in France). As you can imagine, great pastry chefs from all over come to compete, but not against each other, as there is no limit to how many MOFs can be created each four years. They are battling againt themselves, time, humidity, and just plain luck. The support they give each other, as stressful as the three-day competition is, was a relief to witness after the depths to which so many TV cooking shows have descended... food as specatator sport, accompanied by bleeped bad language. (Bad language should just be left in; who hasn't heard it all by now?) No evidence of that in Kings of Pastry. When one contestant sees his breathtaking sugar scultpure go crashing to the ground, the judges themselves (all MOFs) tear up. I teared up when one contestant, during his practice months back home, tossed a multi-layered cake of exquisite proportions... into the trash. Noooooooooo!
"In the time of your life, live - so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death for yourself or for any life your life touches. Seek goodness everywhere, and when it is found, bring it out of its hiding-place and let it be free and unashamed. Place in matter and in flesh the least of the values, for these are the things that hold death and must pass away. Discover in all things that which shines and is beyond corruption. Encourage virtue in whatever heart it may have driven into secrecy and sorrow by the shame and terror of the world."
From the prologue to The Time of Your Life, a play by William Saroyan which celebrates Life with a capital "L" and its possibilities. I find this prologue very moving, and more so today, when we remember the 10th anniversary of those dreadful events of 9-11, and how the world, for so many, was changed forever.
It was earlier this summer that I saw a performance of this play, in the remount of the Soulpepper production at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts. The playbill featured an eloquent artist's note by actor Stuart Hughes (Kit Carson in the play) and the reprint of the prologue to the script, by Saroyan. I quoted from it above. Here's another:
"In the time of your life, live - so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it."
In grievous times the artist finds solace from the world in his art, as do those observers that are lucky enough to live where art is freely and widely expressed. There is an example of the seeking of that solace in Mahler's incomparable Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen. In late September 2001, the Canadian Opera Company had the opening night of its season. Before the performance started, the great Canadian baritone Russell Braun stepped before the curtain and sung this haunting song, accompanied by the company's orchestra, in a tribute to those who had died on that dreadful day. Here's it's sung by José van Dam.
Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (Words by Friedrich Rückert, Music by Gustav Mahler)
Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen, Mit der ich sonst viele Zeit verdorben, Sie hat so lange nichts von mir vernommen, Sie mag wohl glauben, ich sei gestorben!
Es ist mir auch gar nichts daran gelegen, Ob sie mich für gestorben hält, Ich kann auch gar nichts sagen dagegen, Denn wirklich bin ich gestorben der Welt.
Ich bin gestorben dem Weltgetümmel, Und ruh' in einem stillen Gebiet! Ich leb' allein in meinem Himmel, In meinem Lieben, in meinem Lied!
English translation by Emily Ezust:
I am lost to the world with which I used to waste so much time, It has heard nothing from me for so long that it may very well believe that I am dead!
It is of no consequence to me Whether it thinks me dead; I cannot deny it, for I really am dead to the world.
I am dead to the world's tumult, And I rest in a quiet realm! I live alone in my heaven, In my love and in my song!
One of my favourite things is to visit the McMichael Canadian Art Collection in Kleinburg, Ontario, just a bit north and to the west of Toronto. Set in 100 acres of conserved land, it's a wonder to walk around and photograph. The buildings are made of fieldstone and hand-hewn logs, according to the brochure.
A seat in the lobby made from one half of a tree trunk.
Trees are amazing.
A new and vivid creation.
The main building.
During my last visit to the McMichael Gallery, I made a new discovery: Marc-Aurèle Fortin.
The gallery's website told us:
Marc-Aurèle Fortin: The Experience of Colour, the first major museum exhibition devoted to the artist in more than 45 years, features a hundred or so paintings, prints, drawings and watercolours produced over four decades, between 1909 and 1949.
Fortin indelibly marked the Quebec imagination with the compositions of stately elms and colourful rural scenes for which he is best known. The exhibition presents views of Sainte-Rose, Île d’Orléans and the Charlevoix, Gaspé and Saguenay regions, depictions of the Quebec countryside of his day. It also includes a lesser-known but equally important aspect of his work: cityscapes. These urban views prove him a keen observer of the irreversible changes that modernity was bringing to Montreal in the 1920s and 30s.
The ExhibitionThis exhibition is a tribute to the landscape artist Marc-Aurèle Fortin (1888-1970), who painted for four decades in the rising tide of Quebec and Canadian modernity. The 107 works assembled here testify to his prolific output, from the early paintings done in Chicago, in 1909 and 1910, to the Gaspé and Saguenay region landscapes captured in the late 1940s, before health problems forced him to stop working. While remaining faithful to figurative art as a painter, watercolourist, printmaker and pastelist, he endlessly experimented with colour, the true focus of his inquiry.
In the 1920s and 30s, Fortin’s career took off with the success of his views of Montreal and its harbour and his depictions of large trees. These works earned him recognition in the art world, and this exhibition honours their outstanding quality. You will discover famous pieces and others less well known, all illustrating steps on a remarkable artistic journey marked by experimentation and freedom.
Well, I'm hooked. These small images, stopping just short of story-book charming, were lifted by me from the gallery's website.
Laurentian Landscape, 1919 (or earlier)
Railway Tracks at Hochelaga, 1931 or 1932 Saint-Siméon, 1938
I never get bored with Cherry Beach. Sunshine at last, and melting ice, and sparkles on water. I was a very happy girl yesterday, as I did a quick stroll there and back again on my lunch hour.
And the artwork of Gregory Alan Elliott.
Thank you Mr. E. You've made a dreary bit of Cherry Street more special.
We had dim sum today on Baldwin Street, followed by a visit to Bau Xi photo gallery, which is situated on Dundas Street West, just across from the Art Gallery of Ontario. Bau Xi were showcasing the stunning large-format opera house photographs by David Leventi. I urge you to click on his name and see his amazing images, some taken from the stage into the auditorium, some from the back of the auditorium towards the stage.
Later, it was a cup of tea, and even though the cafe didn't offer pure peppermint tea, they happened to have some fresh mint leaves for their black-tea-based Moroccan tea, and made me a large mug with just fresh mint leaves. I was very happy.
And how we enjoyed the warm spell... but it's over now: I look out my window and that wonderful melt now been transformed into snowy streets.
Some time ago I shared on my blog my ritual for killing a cold before it gets a chance to take a hold. But this past week, when the symptoms arose I got lazy and didn't follow my own instructions. I paid for that with a really bad cold, full of cough and awfulness.
I did all the stuff on the list and I'm on the mend. But at its worst I felt so awful that there was no old film, no silly tv show, no talking or sleeping or anything that would distract me from how sore my throat was or how much my head was pounding.
Since childhood there has been only one activity that really soothes me when ill: the Tintin books. I have them all, and they're so well-loved, they're falling apart. I read everyone this past week, sometimes at 3 a.m. when I thought I would go mad with lack of sleep and discomfort. They looked comforting even just stacked on the chair next to my bed.
From the delicious 1930s esthetic to the clever details of every frame, these illustrated books were my first taste of what a graphic novel should be.
