A soft spot for bricks

  

 

 

The hugely influential 20^th-century architect Mies van der Rohe summed it up: "L'architecture commence quand vous mettez en relation deux briques. C'est là que tout commence."  ("Architecture begins when you connect two bricks.  It's there that it all begins.")

 

Well, with that kind of accolade, I have a clear conscience about introducing the topic to my friends – who, it turns out, are bricks themselves!  Take a quick glean at the previous post, and you'll see why I was so excited when, after its publication, reports began arriving almost immediately from all parts of the world.  Well, my own world, anyway.

 

First, on the subject of the more-or-less local Clayburn bricks, I heard from friend P from a stone's (or brick's) throw away:-- As a schoolgirl in the 1950s, she'd lived in Abbotsford, BC, for a time – had classmates whose dads worked at the brick plant, the local industry on which the town depended in those days – much like my own childhood memories of the paper mill town along an upper New York State river.

 

Next I heard from my lifelong friend A – she of those early paper mill days.  She said simply, "I've always loved bricks!"  What a good thing – since for most of her adulthood she's lived in a brick building in New York City.

 

 

Here on the West Coast, friend M is conscientiously looking for old bricks as she rambles about Victoria, BC.  No Victorian bricks have crossed her path yet – but there was a thriving Victoria Brick Company once upon a time.   Meanwhile, she sends exciting reports about the deer that roam freely, even in residential neighbourhoods, and occasional new-to-both-of-us plants or flowers.

 

From the U.S. Midwest, friend G snapped a photo as we talked on the phone – and sent me a view of the beautiful wall in her basement, constructed by husband, son, and father-in-law.  What’s more, when her daughter was in school, she shared a ballet class with the daughter of the owner of – ta tum!  Belden Bricks, the largest brick manufacturer in Ohio. 

 

G's wall arrived within a week of another gift from Budapest – a photo of the brick wall-in-progress being reconstructed from 18^th/19^th century bricks by friend Y's son in the basement of his old building.  I'm counting on an unveiling when that wall is complete – and meanwhile, here's just one of the prized bricks that will be embedded in it:

 

And then – oh, my goodness – I received a photo tour of almost a dozen old buildings in Ottawa, of both brick and cut stone.  Thank you, friend J – I'll choose just one of them for now…but such beauties!

 

Meanwhile -- as I've revelled in brickworks and bamboo roots, I've also been attending Summer Camp.  Every summer, I like to take a month's break from usual studio routines and PLAY.  This year, I was eager again to get hands-on with modelling clay – and I had a vision of a whole bunch of small figures climbing around The Brick Factory garden plot.

 

Well.  It didn't exactly happen.  You saw my messy brick experiments in my previous post – NOT the kind of clay I needed for my figures.  So I tried another brand which was much too hard. Then I tried a third brand, which was way too dry.  (Perhaps all three were just old stock….?)

 

Nonetheless, I borrowed a concept from an innovative young Japanese artist whose exhibit I was able to see, thanks to P, at the Nikkei Cultural Centre.  From the thinnest possible slips of washi paper, Alexa Hatanaka creates things like – no, it's not a kimono – it's a hazmat suit!!  Take a look.

 

With hats off to Alexa (actually, she prefers to craft baseball caps), I've positioned my two Summer Campers in an assemblage titled:  "Sleepover at The Brick Factory – Wear Your Hazmat Suit."