G A L L E R Y
A R C T U R U S
The Daily News
Zan continues to make new pieces to add to the exhibition, here, in the collage gallery.
Visitors can view her extraordinary masks and also see the materials and way that she uses them.
A reception will be held this Saturday, November 10th from 2 - 5 pm.
Visit arcturus.ca to see more.
A corduroy day
small hills and valleys settled with chill
not familiar yet
this morning sharpness
snaps cold fingers
in a call to attention
cutting through pretense and falsehood
only an arms length away.
An epidemic of such proportion that it infiltrates my dreaming
stirs itself into my first bitter sip
I can sometimes hear it whispered in the periphery of listening
to your calm reasoning.
Insects are intensely scary when they are swarming
a plague of locusts
are not anything like the grasshopper you find and hold in your hand
spellbound by the fine precision of its creation.
Mobs are the wasps that sting
so better not to get too close
but their wings, like the butterflies a thousand miles away
are causing the winds to lift the edges of our smooth flat sheets.
They may soon resemble sails with us on boats
we no longer know to navigate.
A corduroy day
with nap and ridges
like fur on the back of a fearful dog
reading the morning news.
I am learning to sculpt soap stone from a master
my first attempts are from his cut offs
small twisted bits resembling cashews
each one fitting inside the palm.
Where the saw blade severed them from the whole
that flat is now vertical
seven heads standing in a row
small twisted mouths singing their hearts out
cashews don't sing
but they are compulsively delicious
and sculpting is quite compulsive
even more than cutting one's nails
filing the rough edges and a nose appears
or a forehead bevelled on the cusp
fingertips feel the smooth countenance appear
holding three dimensions in the hand.
Yellow door and a tailless black cat
we enter the day
striding up the slight incline
towards the car.
A purposeful departure towards coffee.
There are still puddles after the nights rain,
all else has been blown dry.
Autumn sun shines bright and rises late,
roses are still blooming at the café garden as we park.
No one is sitting outside.
We are on a mission
to pick up stone.
(notice the journey is not of one)
A highway destination
I navigate from the passengers seat,
turning my head to examine the pattern of balconies in the clouds,
reading the bill boards as they flash by.
An undulating fleet or army or troop all moving as one,
the Roman army on wheels peacefully invading Jerusalem
or the Spanish armada crossing the channel.
A cinematic view of the expressway.
On the return
the vehicle is heavy with purchase
five unfinished sculptures in the back
carried in strong arms and laid on the floor in the gallery
waiting for hands to shape them into life.
I am sitting in a patch of sun
the only place I found today
to stop my pacing restlessness, from moving me around.
I don't need glasses
except to read signs and headlines
the fine print and ingredients
price tags at the local second hand.
Some five dozen pairs of magnifiers
stashed on every floor
all dollar store zoom lensers.
It's a gift of age not to see the details
the shock of loose skin and spots,
which fade and tighten
when seeing hangs from a string 'round the neck.
What are we all trying to do?
Sweeping up the butts outside
picking up the shit.
trying to clean up the mess left behind
to create some semblance of beauty
some hint of order.
A lasoo or drawstring around what matters.
Sometimes hunger is demanding and insatiable
mostly it can be forgotten
lost in boredom or enthusiam
Maybe we'll get a dog
I can't imagine what that will change
fear of complacency
barks on the inside and frightens what might be different away.
We are sitting on opposite sides
of a small table
or kitti corner
or lying like spoons in the bed
one end of the couch
or the other
driving fast forward
It's a journey we are on, together.
Being your apprentice
what you had finished yesterday
in your fearless hands
soft agreements disagree
dangerous spinning blades
make time move faster
from birth to death
and in the aftermath
with all its struggling
What began last week in the gallery as 'o v e r t u r n e d' has evolved to include 'Hortense and Hernan'
and has added the important quality of seriousness.
All the exhibits which take place in the gallery are a conversation, in the space, with the space and for the space.
It is the medium of the space which allows visitors to have an experience of something other.
Each word is shaped by the meaning that it holds.
A word has a weight and a form.
It can be obscure or transparent.
With curiosity it is possible to see into it and sense its many lifetimes.
A word rarely stands alone but reflects the context in which it is placed.
Words are vehicles of travel
carrying us towards understanding.
Today Sae 'n' I ventured out onto the street, far from our stomping grounds, looking to find who know's what.
We took with us a CONTACT map and gallery names but never found any.
The bus was crowded and hot and we couldn't remember where we were or why we were there.
Sometimes everything we need is right in front of us.
Returning to our familiar was a great relief.