A little minutiae goes a long way

  

How's this for an overabundance of minutiae – and wackiness!  The owner must be one of that tribe (favourites of mine), the Creative Packrats.  And it seems "Minutiae" is having a moment as in this current exhibit at the Alberta Craft Gallery.  In any case, this fit nicely with my plans for a short series with that title – to help the minutes pass quickly before I can set off for this year's Summer Camp.

 

Time does fly and since my first post in this series, lots of small impressions have come my way.  Remember the eclipse?  No, I didn't catch even a glimpse, thinking it would be impossible to see above Vancouver's city lights.  But a neighbour showed me a green blur on her phone, a photo she'd caught from her north window, just down the block.  She didn't want me to feel left out (not that I did) so she organized an after-dark walk around the neighbourhood on the second evening.

 

Under escort – her husband with a flashlight, taking his job very seriously – we walked to the higher end of the nearby schoolyard park, where I often stand to enjoy a good view of the mountains on clear days.  No sign of the eclipse – in fact, darker than dark in the northerly direction.   But it was all very magical – walking through the dark silent streets.

 

Next day, I did a quick stint in the studio to produce "Nocturne – To No Avail" (Minutiae series, 2024).

 

 

Despite this year's rain and chill, May rolled out the gifts that I watch for every year.  First, there's my favourite Tulip Tree, shown in a shy bud on the tree two blocks away and then in a vase on my back porch.

 

 

Two blocks in a different direction is a Japanese maple tree with THE most intense red "keys".

 

And then, another intriguing gift of a tree – the Hop-Hornbeam.  I'd known hop vines for decades and was astonished at my first sight of similar flowers on a tree.  Now it's another springtime favourite of mine, with a few flower heads collected for a brief indoor display.

 

Well, how to seize the minutiae of three big trees?  I started with some possible close-ups of flower and seeds.

 

Somehow, as I kept trying to simplify, I was reminded of an eccentric early 20^th-century artist who is having her moment, too.  Double-checking after my sketching session, I at least learned to spell her name -- Hilma af Klint.  A photo of her works on exhibit confirms my recent theory that it's all about size. (Yes, I'm joking)

 

And here's my version of "Gifts from Trees" (Minutiae series, 2024).

 

This is far from what it might have been – despite the fact that the current genie in my studio is Gino Severini, discovered via the Commedia series.  I'll let him chime in – and then sign off with a tip of his bowler hat.  (Does he look "corrugated"?  That happens with cardboard….) 

 "Philosophers and aestheticians may offer elegant and profound definitions of art and beauty, but for the painter they are all summed up in the phrase:  To create a harmony."

 

Counting the days, marking the minutes

 

 

Whoo-hoo!  The celestial phenomena are coming thick and fast this year, with the Summer Solstice arriving on schedule through the Stonehenge window at 20.51 GMT, June 20^th.   That's 1:50 pm PDT here in Vancouver.

 

For those who take a summer vacation, though, the end of the school year seven days later cannot come fast enough. We're wriggling in our regimens, squirming in our seats, twiddling our thumbs, and generally feeling young and restless.

 

Every year, I like to step away from my regular studio production routine and "go on vacation."  Last year, I spent my summer daze, idly in the Adirondack Mountains of New York, gamely imagining what might have filled the carved antique frame of my mother's old mirror.

 

I'm starting to get a hint of a framework for Summer Vacation 2024, but I have a couple of weeks to go until school lets out.  Here's my plan for this interim period:--  I'm going to borrow the counsel of the mindfulness community and be aware as the small elements of the day catch my attention.  Then, for each blog edition, I'll do a relatively simple piece or two, the work of one or two studio sessions, not the full she-bang. 

 

I'll start by breathing deeply and enjoying the view out my northern kitchen window – the mountain expanse that I savour and that just might be gone this time next year when a new 12-storey building blocks my view.

 

Never mind.  Focus on the moment.  Let's start with a concert I attended a couple weeks back – the wonderful musicians of Vetta Chamber Music.  (Scroll down to "Watch and Listen On-Line" for no-charge access to the past season's performances).

 

I attend their concerts at Pyatt Hall where I'm always intrigued by the horizontal and vertical patterns of the remarkable acoustic backdrop – shown here in a promo photo:

 

I'd found my favourite aisle seat, and two more viewers entered the short row, leaving an empty seat between one of them and me.  Just as the lights were dimming, along came a flustered woman who thrust into the empty seat an opulent bouquet… obviously intended for the featured performer.  The woman on the other side was not amused by being poked with the wrappings, and I was not amused as the eucalyptus began to give me the sniffles.

 

There was not much we could do about it as Ms. Fluster had gone on her way – until she almost missed presenting her bouquet at the concert's conclusion.  Not much to do except, after the fact, to seize the moment and produce "In Your Face" – Minutiae Series, 2024.

 

 

In quite a different vein and with any number of magic moments. I took a solo walk the next week along the waterfront at Ambleside, the enticingly named area of West Vancouver where my friend L's gallery is located.  Okay, you've read it here before – it's not actually her gallery, but it might as well be, and they know it and think highly of her.  (So there, Friend L !!).   I was headed particularly for an exhibit that was about to close and the wonderful small bird sculptures that L had raved about.

 

I began near the seawall just below the West Van Memorial Library, and first I sat down to inhale the sea air in a delightful sheltered pavilion – with shadows on the overhead crossbars that mesmerized me.

 

Then, I ambled eastward in a leisurely exploration of the high tide line.

 

And finally, I lingered in L's Gallery and shared her enchantment with the flights of birds.

 

Some days later, all the little bits and pieces, the dots of dark and light, were still on my mind – the shadows on the seaside pavilion, the flotsam of the high tide line, the magic flying flock.  I decided to put them together in one panel.  I began with an atypical approach for me – a palette knife spreading streaks of acrylic medium for a textured surface.

 

With not too much studio time, I produced the final version of "Ambleside."

 

Modest as this is at 7 ½ x 17", it outperforms many pricey professional pieces I've seen in online arts coverage.  Sometimes it's size that counts.  Suppose this were 7 ½ by 17 FEET?   New York galleries, here we come!

 

Okay.  Just kidding.  Meanwhile, the countdown continues.  Just six weeks to go.  And then -- ??