Seasons in the Fantasy Forest

CG Jung says, "The creative mind plays with the things that it loves." In our family, one creative mind plays with prime numbers and geometrical constructions; the other plays with shapes and colours. And both of us have been intrigued by an ever-changing optical illusion that floats above us at the therapeutic pool where we've been swimming weekly for over a year.

You can share the fun. Here's how it works.

The pool 's setting is itself therapeutic -- a beautifully landscaped 20-acre property where a number of health and rehab facilities are situated . We learned recently that once upon a time, before the health care crunch, these grounds had a full-time gardener -- and it shows. The pool building itself resembles a huge greenhouse, with glassed panes on three sides. Its shape is something like a giant quonset house, with the south wall angling inward to connect to a low building wing with office and locker rooms. The straight-sided east and west walls open onto mini-courtyards. The longer south wall looks out on a groomed abundance of shrubs and huge deciduous trees.

Now here's the fascinating part. Because of the angled panes of this wall, each horizontal segment reflects whatever rests on the pool deck. When we swim, late Fridays, there are always a dozen or more multi-coloured 4-foot lengths of tubular foam (fun to wrap around yourself, like an inner tube). Remarkably, their reflections -- repeating in triplicate up the three rows of glass -- are just the size of the branches on the outdoor trees. AND this view of trees with pink/purple/yellow/blue/green "branches" changes with the seasons and the related length and light of day.

Want to join me in a visualization experiment? First, here's a section of the south wall of the pool and, outside, the bare branches of shrubs and trees. (Digression: We arrived one Friday to hear the astonishing tale of a raccoon who'd somehow entered two nights before -- via the automatic door? -- and, when accosted the next morning, quickly made its way up the vertical struts and across the horizontals to sit as remotely as possible until more or less humanely captured by a wildlife rescue person on a ladder).

Next, the main foliage shapes -- shown in grey so you can picture the variables. In spring, they're lime green; in summer, rich green; in fall, vibrant red-orange; and in winter, non-existent.

Now for some foam tubes on the pool deck. Mentally flip them upward to reflect in all three horizontal sections of the glass.

Finally, here's an expanse of pool water. Its reflections are most evident right now, in ripe summer, when they float against the sky around the treetops, looking like mystical auras. Almost more mystical is the winter view:-- By 4 pm, it's black outside. Inside, big orange overhead heat lamps have replaced the ordinary light fixtures, and the window panes reflect back tongues of orange flame dancing around the scarcely visible tree trunks.

It's all like a fabulous light show, with wonderful variations depending not only on the season, but the wind and weather conditions. Creative math minds might wish to calculate the number of variables. Creative colour/shape minds can just sit back and trip out.

Martial Arts - Protective goggles recommended

When I first introduced my Astrological Plants series, I heard back from two friends, within a day of each other. "When will you do Aries?" (her sign) "When will you do Scorpio?" (her sign) The first message gave me a smile, the second a laugh-out-loud. Because wouldn't you know? Both these signs are ruled by Mars so it's no wonder these two gals are a tad...assertive, shall we say?

There's only one thing to do with folks like this. Meet them head on. (I should know, having worked with them both for a couple of intense years. ) So I decided it would be fun to work on the Aries and Scorpio paintings at the same time, playing differently with the colours assigned to Mars: all shades of red, dark orange, dull greens and browns. Here's Mars, which you can see under development in the usual slideshow.

And here's Scorpio, with its own slideshow here.

Not surprisingly, the plants assigned to Mars have sharp edges. Aries' hops, which we were pleased to find abundantly growing up and over an old stable on our property, are no doubt "volunteers" from an early 20th-century hops industry in the Squamish Valley. It's no kidding that the "beer that made Milwaukee famous" was due in part to the prized hops of Squamish, as well as those of Washington and Oregon. The soil and climate apparently contribute a unique buzz in the fermentation process. (Brewed rather than fermented, the papery flowers make a soothing tea which JT likes to make. Tastes like warm beer to me). If the distinctive teeth of the leaves remind you of something on the illicit side, that's because Humulus lupulus (don't you love it?) belongs to the Cannabis family.

Scorpios' Common Burdock has its own distinctions, beyond the one familiar to all walkers in wild places who come home with trouser legs full of sticky brown burrs. We've found plants growing majestically up to six feet in height. When late fall frosts hit our moist coastal valley, the whole plants with their pyramidal shape became glittering "Christmas trees" full of sparkling silvered balls, the frost crystals a quarter-inch long.

A true red colour is so far down the list of my personal preferences that I'd not bothered to refresh my supply of Cadmium Red paint, but Aries and Scorpio demanded the full punch and I had to make a special trip out to get a new tube.