Circle Dance, rice paper in floating frame
Leaves fall, magpie stays. Rice paper in floating frame
in the creating stage “Rice Paper Polka”. This began as “fall colours” but something entirely different happened!!
more playing
Rice Paper Polka. (“Looks like nice wallpaper, mum” – the twin critics)
Rooster? Hen? with somewhere to go. Candy wrappers, cigarette foils on paper
Rice paper Trio on 8 x 8 Plexi Glass with Artscape Rice Paper providing the frosted look (and UV protection)
Rice paper pair on 8 x 8 clear plexiglass
Pink and Green Fairy Bird? (no plexiglass)
Simple things amuse simple minds.
Creating rice paper birds fills me with a quiet joy and delight. In a sense they are all the same bird, although they vary slightly in size and shape and are all the colours of the rainbow. Holding a piece of pink rice paper to the sunlight with a piece of green behind it and seeing how it looks in different lights thrills me. It is one thing to glue pieces of translucent paper together on a table; it is an entirely different thing to hold these same pieces of paper up to the window and see how they are completely transformed by light. As I create a rice paper birds, it is akin to having a conversation with light – I cut, I hold up to the light, maybe I glue, maybe I try another shade. For this reason, it takes about 45 minutes, give or take, to create a rice paper bird. I feel as though I could cut and glue and construct these little creatures for a very long time.
Larks at Christie Lake
Since I am clearly hooked on creating rice paper birds, I have to ask how to move such birds into the world? While it is true that a handful of people have one or two such birds flying in their windows, I want to create sky-fulls of them. I like putting them together on a window, a branch, a translucent screen and creating a pattern of movement. Flocks, families, communities of birds winging their way to an imagined sky. This led to “An Exultation of Larks” created last spring. I like seeing how they look in different venues, during different seasons, in the mornings or the afternoons or on the light of a sombre day.
This fall, I have purchased a quantity of plexiglass, cut in a whole variety of sizes as well as some glue that works well with plexi-glass (but has toxic vapours). Above you can see my first two experiments, done on 8 x 8 pieces of plexiglass. I will try sealing them with glue at the edges. (Up until now, I have been using screws.) I prefer to have no frame around the birds as I like the illusion that they can fly off into the sky. However, I also hope to experiment with real glass, circles, and thin copper or silver frames with help from a local stained glass artist.
I am currently working with a long rectangular piece measuring 28″ x 8″ and loving the challenge.
How do you know when you are well and truly home? Three vignettes from my life in Treaty Four Territory, under the prairie sky.
I.
I am well and truly home!
Our two farm dogs, Lady (mum) and Herc (son) fell into their own routines when I abandoned them and went to Ontario. That routine involves hunting muskrat in the dugouts, clearly an absorbing task for a pair of canines. I would head off on my morning walk, call the dogs and to my great dismay, nobody came. When I was a few kilometres down the road and on my way back, I would see two distant black dots racing down the road towards me, wearing signs of dugout activity when they arrived. Wet, with flecks of lime green duckweed on their coats!
Now, some weeks and many morning walks later, the dogs have caught on and have let the dugout go in favour of a morning walk.(Muskrat relief, to be sure!) They can barely contain their joy when I come out the door. All the way down the lane, they do doggie backflips, fall over each other, contort their bodies and tails in movements of joy and excitement and anticipation. Lady even smiles, a kind of ugly but sweet grimace. They trip over each other. Sometimes I can barely move down the lane. I occasionally remember kicking one of these dogs predecessors once because I was so frustrated that I could not move. (Shame!) The walk down the lane is a good a barometer of how crusty (or not) I might be feeling in the morning.
Two things: I am grateful that we have a short lane. The dog’s antics fill my heart with joy and are the best beginning to a morning walk.
I am now able to walk across the south field because it has been combined. Field walking is even more pleasurable than walking down the road. I like the unexpected dips and swells, the curves and surprises of walking across the fields. I like the wild untouched areas – a grove of willows here, a wetland there, an unexpected rise over here. The dogs follow their noses, read each other’s body language, their tails erect and a certain tension in their body when they pick up a scent. They bound ahead, disappearing at times, surprising me later by coming up from behind. Their movement is like a dance, is like the swoop of the grass birds as they fly hither, is like the curve of the land itself, under this vast bowl of sky.
II.
watercolour – Pheasant Creek Coulee
Last week, I was able to visit Pheasant Creek Coulee almost every day, sometimes with my paints, sometimes not. Colours are just beginning to change. The pinks of the bluestem grass on the hills is astonishing. This morning when I arrived, there were four Swainson’s hawks flying just over the hill where I often sit. I stopped and sat and watched them, listened to their sharp cries, wondered if they were a family or just a group of hawks who liked to hang out. The cry of a hawk is like the pungent scent of sage – no matter how many times you have heard it or smelled it, it catches you unawares, urges you to wake up, pay attention!
I come to Grandfather Rock, a place where I have painted often. In a certain way, trying to paint in this place is a way to come to know it better, to see all the shades alive in the pink of the bluestem, to wrestle with all of the troublesome yet beautiful greens. After some attempts to catch the feel and colour of the day, I return to what it is that I love most about this place – how to paint the shape and curve of the land – the skeleton, the bones beneath these hills.
III.
Treaty Four Powwow, under the arbour. Flashing colours of dancers everywhere. Sound of drums beating here and there. A beautiful fall day nestled by Mission Lake in the folds of the hills of the Qu’Appelle Valley. Garbage floating off in the wind, or trampled underground. The smell of sweetgrass, of home fries, of deep frying. Powwow announcers trying to get people to come for the Grand Entry.
jingle skirts, Treaty Four Powwow. Photo courtesy of Kate Hersberger, http://movingforwardlookingforthejoy.blogspot.ca
I have just been to see our daughters, Jessie and Marina, and their horses Missy and Gatty. They have camped out here all weekend with other riders who made the trip here on horseback to honour the late Chief Irvin StarBlanket. Marina tells me that they have been asked to take part in the Horse Ceremony which will occur before the Special (Dance Competition) in honour of Chief Irvin. She is nervous. Gatty will do fine, she tells me. She is worried about riding in front of such a big crowd.
I am sitting directly across from where the riders will enter the powwow arena. Elder Mike Pinay, the announcer, shares something about the Horse Ceremony, and then says that two girls from outside the community have been asked to take part in this ceremony, to ride for the mothers and for the grandmothers. He goes on to say that it is unusual to ask outsiders to take part but that these girls are great friends of the community, and know some of the ways of the community. It is a great honour for them to take part in this ceremony.
Mike then asks the StarBlanket Juniors drum group to begin their song and all of us stand. I stand tall, full of prayer, or pride, of love for these two daughters and the great honour they have of taking part in this. Marina nods in my direction as she rides by.The five horses circle the arbour four times, going slowly the first time around, then trotting, then loping. Drums beat, hooves beat, hearts beat…. I think of their grandmothers and great grandmothers….They look beautiful. Our daughters sit tall in the saddle.
When they are finished, I see them heading off towards the hills to let the horses have a good run, to let the horses loose. I have been proud of these girls many times before, but never like this.
These are not photos of the horse ceremony, but of the last part of the Memorial Ride.
some of the many riders and horses at Treaty Four
For sale – art, eggs, sunflower seeds
Fort Qu’Appelle Farmer’s Market…selling art from the back of our truck!!!
Fort Qu’Appelle Farmer’s Market – fairy has a chance to fly in the trees!
There are so many reasons it is good to be HOME, I cannot even begin to count. And although I miss the glass walls of the Crystal Palace at the Perth Farmer’s Market, I like selling from the back of our old red truck, and I enjoy both the egg customers and those who love the wild birds and come to buy our black sunflower seeds, as well as those who come to leaf through the art and cards. This past weekend, I sold more “hatchlings” than I sold in 4 weeks at the Perth Farmer’s Market. Go figure! What are “hatchlings, you ask? They are small creatures designed to make people laugh or smile…otherwise they are completely useless! Made of Fimo or Sculpey and baked in the oven, some resemble creatures (chickens, snakes, turtles) while others are more monster-like. Some are happy, some are ticked off. Some are jubilant, others are a little sad.
a selection of “hatchlings”
and a few more…
Each morning while at Christie Lake, I enjoy a morning swim, whatever the weather. Some days I swim hard, especially if there are lots of waves. The odd day, I swim to Loon Island (the island featured in these images). Some days, like the one pictured below are so very still, I try to enter the water as gradually and quietly as I can – without a ripple. Which is, of course, impossible, but fun to try.
Then I went for my “silent” swim. This is how the lake looked through the camera after the swim.
my ripples!!!
Then, it rained.
I think I remember hearing the sound of the loon during the night as a small girl, and thrilling to it, rather than being scared. That might just as well just be a story I made up! It matches the feeling I have about loons – like many others I have felt a special kinship with loons for as long as I can remember.
My childhood memories of Christie Lake are interwoven with memories of encounters with loons, and with their cries, their keening and their laughter present throughout the day, but most especially at night. A vivid and unforgettable memory is watching a loon swim under our canoe.
The summer I was 17, I took part in the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources Junior Ranger Program. Along with twenty three other 17 year olds from all across Ontario, I went to McConnell Lake, somewhere outside of North Bay. I drank it all in – from steel toed working boots, to blueberries in an abundance I could not have imagined, to being away from home, to the friendships formed…and especially to a wilder lake than I had ever know…McConnell Lake was home to somewhere between 24 and 30 loons. I perfected my loon call, and felt that I could commune with a particular lone loon. I remember being punished one morning during calisthenics because the loons were dancing in some kind of formation – and I left (oh horror!) our exercise routine to go and watch them. The young women who were supervising us were barely older than us, and knew that their authority was held by a very frayed thread indeed!
“Deep Diver”- Loon
Photo by C. Westmoreland
All of this has come to mind for a few reasons. There are two families of loons at this end of the lake this summer. I have had some wonderful conversations at the Perth Farmer’s Market with people who see “Deep Diver” and want to share their own stories and love of loons. When my friend Mary was visiting, I looked for and found a board I painted as a teenager with loons on it.
Much like my entry in Taking Flight #2 , which shows another sketch of a loon diving, it reminds me just how formative my growing up years are in relation to creating art (and much else).
Loon Board , c1977
Detatl- Loon Board
Detail- loon borad with Ottawa Point, Christie lake in the background
Last Saturday, at the Perth Farmer’s Market, I had a wonderful conversation with a woman spending time with her family at a nearby lake. One of her children made a peeping sound, and a young loon swam right for him on shore. Waters had been stormy so the loon was bedraggled and clearly tuckered out, so my friend was called and she cradled the loon in her arms for a while keeping it warm and offering some rest. For all of this time, no parent loons were in sight. As the small loon revived, they spotted a pair of loons out on the lake and decided to paddle her/him out. My friend sat in the canoe holding the baby in her lap. As they got closer to the adult loons, she put the baby into the water. The baby peeped…the adults did not hear. The adults peeped – the baby hightailed over to the parents and many loon sounds were heard. She hopes all is well with this reunited family.
Another group came by the same Market Day with a woman visiting from the States – from a place where there are no loons. Every time she saw a loon, she commented on the “duck” up ahead. The people she was with were quick to correct her – “Evvie”, they would say when she was looking at “Deep Diver,” “That is not a duck, it is a loon.” As Canadians, we are not usually so precise about bird nomenclature! Some of us call goldfinches canaries, for example. But for those of us lucky enough to spend time in Shield Country, for those of us lucky enough to share waters with the common loon, it is vital to know the difference between a loon and a duck.
In May 2013, I had an art show entitled “Taking Flight – Exploring Birds and Oher Flying Creatures in the Art of Sue Bland”. I continue to want to explore the theme of birds, and of flight in my life. Previous posts are Taking Flight #1, Taking Flight #2, Taking Flight #3 and some reflections on the show.
This morning (Thursday, July 25th) I learned that Gerry Starr passed away. I was preparing for a visit from my aunt and my cousins but the news about Gerry caused me stop and have a good cry. As soon as I was done preparing food, I went down to the lake to think about Gerry and to wait for my visitors. In Gerry’s memory, I made a small circle of stones on the beach, noticing after I did so that half the stones were in the water and half were not. Along with the stones, I picked a shiny piece of shell, because for me Gerry had a quiet kind of shine. While I waited, a family of loons fished just a ways off shore. A large osprey (also known as fish eagle) soared way out on the lake, also fishing. This made me think straight away of Edith, Gerry’s wife and my friend, who always looked for the eagle to accompany us on each day of a canoe trip we took.
I was grateful for this quiet moment and this peaceful lake where I could remember Gerry. As I sat, the water lapping the sand slowly shifted my circle of stones.
Gerry always called me Sue Bland, never just Sue like most people!! Together, he and his wife Edith were unfailingly kind and hospitable and generous to my family and I. Gerry was the dad of my great friend Gail, and her sisters Danette, Geraldine, a sister I have not yet met, and the late Jean. He was the moshum of my goddaughter Janaye and her sister Taye, and a whole bunch of boys. He had three beloved great granddaughters who lit up his face and warmed his heart. He was a respected Elder in his home community of StarBlanket, and beyond.
I did not know Gerry when he was a young capable athlete, or the hardworking manager of the large StarBlanket Farm. Gerry’s health was never great when I knew him and he usually used a walker. It always amazed me how many things he attended despite his great difficulty moving around. I remember him as a quiet, very intelligent, very observant man – nobody’s fool. I don’t think Gerry missed much.
Although he was quiet, when he did have something to say, nothing could stop him from saying it. I remember a couple of those occasions. Once when StarBlanket Cree Nation held a day to commemorate residential school survivors at Lebret, Edith was supposed to speak. When the time came she could not. But with the help of his daughters and Edith, Gerry purposefully made his way to the front and he spoke powerfully about his residential school experience at Lebret. I wrote down what he said, but what sticks with me now is how indignant he was (incredulous really) when he remembered that the priests expected them to pray before breakfast, after breakfast – just about every minute of the day. How there was absolutely no recognition at all that the spiritual ways of his grandfather meant something. He would return home in the summer to go into the bush to learn his grandfather’s ways, then back to boarding school for 10 months learning that those ways were wrong.
On a happier occasion, at Gail and Sonny’s wedding, he called me over to explain that Edith was crying (with joy) because Sonny had gifted him with his best mare and foal, and because this was a return to the way it had been a long time ago. During the traditional ceremony, he spoke at length about this, and very eloquently. He was very moved by Sonny’s gift, and what it represented – regaining the old ways that had been forbidden and made illegal by my people.
My fondest memory of Gerry – one that always brings a smile to my face – took place at the Wahpimoostoosis Healing ceremonies that were held each year in August. I had taken part in a Sweatlodge Ceremony that morning, and was participating in the Feast where Gerry was one of the Elders that afternoon. During the feast, I could hardly keep my head up, and kept yawning – I was so sleepy from my time in the Sweat. After the feast was over, I was shaking the hands of the Elders and when I got to Gerry, he convulsed with laughter and told me how hilarious it was to watch this white girl almost fall asleep during the feast because the Sweat had been too much for me. He teased me without mercy! Honestly, I would have been insulted except that his glee and laughter was so darn contagious, I just cracked up too. I laugh every time I think of it.
Last year, Gail and I spoke a number of times together. I spoke trying to encourage other Canadians to attend the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings. Gail had the hard part – she spoke as an intergenerational survivor – both her parents had attended residential schools and Gail shared how deeply this affected her. I learned a great deal about Gerry and about the powerful bond between Gerry and Gail – but these are Gail’s tales to tell, not mine. I am thinking about these stories as I remember Gerry today. I learned what a complex man Gerry Starr was, and something of his influence on many, many people.
Gerry was waiting for his residential school hearing. Like many Elders before him, he passed away before that could happen. I feel so sad about that. I am not sure that those hearings always offer much healing, but perhaps for some they offer a kind of closure. It seems ironic that today, all across Canada, has been designated by Indigenous people in Canada as NATIONAL DAY OF PRAYER: HONOUR THE APOLOGY. The intention is to honour the children lost to and the adult survivors of residential schools, and to push the federal government to turn over all documentation related to the residential schools to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (as ordered by the courts). I deeply wish that our Canadian government would honour the words of the Apology made in 2008.
Sometimes I have watched a dying person do great healing during their last days. I don’t know if that was the case with Gerry. I hope it was.
I have been feeling Gerry’s absence all day today. The world is a different place without him. I cannot imagine the Starr family without Gerry in their midst. I am feeling the difficulty of having two homes – this being my birth home and Saskatchewan being my chosen home. I want to be able to hug Gail and Edith and family, to take my brown buns (the buns that Gerry loved) and a good farm chicken, to be present as they honour this very special man in time honoured ways. I want to hear what is said, and I want to learn more who this complicated and special man was to others in his family, and in his community. I am 2800 kilometers away, which feels pretty far. But if I can’t be in Saskatchewan, this place where I feel the presence of my own ancestors, where I feel close to earth and lake and sky, is the next best place to give thanks for Gerry’s life, and to offer prayers of healing and peace for him and his big circle of love and family. I feel gratitude for knowing Gerry.
I am back at Christie Lake, rising early in the morning and doing one of my favourite things in the world – enjoying coffee on the dock followed by a swim in the silky waters of the lake of my childhood.
The coffee gives me time to take in the morning – is it calm, misty, stormy? What kind of day will it be? The coffee gives me time to see who else is around. Are the osprey fishing? Loons? Will the family of mergansers being doing their morning rounds? What is the dragonfly population like?
On the prairies, the rising sun happens all at once, transforms the whole seen world at once. Here in Eastern Ontario, the sun tiptoes in, lighting up this group of trees, this swath of sandy beach bit by bit by bit. I enjoy the gradual transformation of the beach, as the sun’s light and sparkle finds its slow way into our bay.
My first morning, I see the heads of two turtles a few hundred feet out. Most mornings the turtles are there. For many years, I imagined that they were snapping turtles. A few springs ago, one swam right up to me. To my astonishment, the turtle was not a snapper but was a Northern Map Turtle. All those years imagining a snapping turtle might clamp its massive jaw around my ankle – for naught! The osprey are nesting again on the island. A parent is cruising the skies above the lake for fish – sometimes I have been lucky enough to watch one plummet from the sky, pick up a fish with its talons and fly up and off to the nearest tree to eat its catch. Not today, but I can hear the cries of the young osprey, always hungry.
Just before heading up the hill for breakfast, I see the otter, swimming across the bay. I did not see the otter all last year and missed his/her presence very much. The previous year, we watched two river otters.
I look forward to many more morning swims. I cannot think of a better way to begin a new day.
See also Creatures I Swim With
In the Crystal Palace at the Perth Farmer’s Market
Alice visiting caught the back view of my head through the window.
“Deep Diver” (Loon) and Water Snake #1 catch people’s eye
“An Exultation of Larks” – I enjoy seeing how they look on different windows
“Fairies” with the market happening through the glass
Not at the market, but I could not resist. Some characters at the Bluegrass Festival that we arrived too late to enjoy it
It is great to be back at the Perth Farmer’s Market! I set up my booth two years ago while spending time at Christie Lake, did well, met many interesting people and now I am back. I will be here for the next 2 Saturdays – July 27th and August 3rd from 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. under the glass roof of the Crystal Palace. I have enjoyed two Saturdays here already – – many people said that they were drawn to my small corner full of colour and joy! Thank you for coming by.
My class mates Jake and Meghan buying their supper
Community Garden
I am so grateful to my friend Erin for telling me about the Dufferin Park Organic Farmer’s Market and all of the cool community things that go on in this park just a couple of subway stops away from my class. My classmates Jake and Meghan came along… we got lost, got drenched, ate very well and had a great time. I was able to buy my supper and the makings of an OZ picnic with Alice before I set out to explore the park. To learn more about this great expression of community you can visit the Friends of Dufferin Park website.
The outdoor oven the Friends of the Park use to bake bread
This bike was advertising a puppet theatre… I kept wondering if the puppets were in the blue box and might pop out at any time!
the knife sharpener
I would love a little gypsy cart like this for the Fort Qu’Appelle Market!
more gardens
There is a big spout of water coming in and great channels…perfect for playing with trucks and boats, sticks for fences, road building… this little guy was having a ball!
when I saw these little houses I thought they were for fairies and elves – the little people
I just kept imagining how I would love this as a child (hey – the CHILD in me still does!)
Close up
So, they are not fairy houses, they are cobs!