Nothing is impossible

 

On a cold wet day in late September, a hint of bright orange peeked out from under huge hosta leaves in a ragged untended corner of my back yard.  Why, that's the flower of an acorn squash!  Who's the joker – Squirrel? Crow? Rodent who shall remain nameless?  Against all odds, the plant produced a few more flowers and then called it a season.

 

I think that's why so many people I know have commented lately on Autumn as their favourite time of year – one phase of life brought to completion and, in the natural course of events, another one lies ahead. 

 

In that autumnal mood, I've been considering what to hold onto, what to let go of, how to develop further.  For example, what to do with 50 years of sketchbooks, of which these are just a few.

 

As I considered a new series, I thought I'd do a transition piece – perhaps around the pond at Il Centro  – near which some Commedia characters recently whipped up a tsunami. 

 

My first idea was to invite eight or so of the artists I most admire to an informal get-together.  You might know that my favourite painting of all time is "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" – it was love at first sight when teenaged me first saw it in Chicago's Art Institute. 

 

I hold this artist responsible for my tendency to pack a lot into a painting so of course he was first on my list.  But was Monsieur Georges Seurat dressed for a pool party -- or did his tailored appearance invite splash-offs and pitched battles with water balloons?

 

With a too-long list of favourite artists, I began some preliminary sketches;

 

No.  My transition plan was all wet.  Seurat worked wall-size, after all.  I decided to limit my party to just three female artists, close-up – two of them 20^th century Americans, who each wrote one of my most valued art books.  The first is Mary Beth McKenzie, shown here in a self-portrait.

 

The second is Harriet Shorr:

 

And the third, thought by some to be the greatest female artist of all time, blows any comparison out of the water.  She is Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1654).  I saw her "Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting" when it was on loan to the Vancouver Art Gallery in 2017, and this painting is virtually alive. 

 

Well, I got started on the three of them, with the pool in the background.

 

And, like the acorn squash plant, I eventually called it a season – with no tasty result to show for it and Artemesia's hair having turned grey in the process.  Here's "Memory Pool," copyright 2025.

 

This one will be painted over and "repurposed" within six months, I'm sure.  But meanwhile, I conjured the idea for my new series (stay tuned) -- so I'll sit on a nearby rock, collect my breath, and press onward.

 

 

Still waters run deep

 

 

 

With shorter, wetter days now, it takes a little more effort and a few more clothing layers to go roaming very far.  By early September, I was regretting that the Hydration Series hadn't extended eastward another two miles to Renfrew Ravine.  It's not a place I would explore on my own, but it's important locally as an area where Still Creek has been daylighted successfully and salmon, with a little help from their human friends, are already starting to come back.

 

Then, just as the previous post was going to press, I happened upon this announcement:

 

"It's a sign!" as one friend would say.  Literally.  So I hit the button and signed up.  What's more, I could do some "daylighting" myself, revisiting a concept from an art book I'd acquired in the early 80s.

 

Here's one of Virginia Cobb's observations:

 

On one occasion, it was proven true for me when I found a flat, hand-sized rock slab with almost the same markings and proportions as a nearby cliff face familiar to us from our coastal hikes.  I planned to hold this thought when I visited Renfrew Ravine.

 

I arrived early at the "Yin Yang Bench".  (Is the world divided into yins who never arrive on time, and yangs who are never late?) 

 

This gave me time to walk around and examine in detail the delightful fish-themed mosaic constructed some years ago by community members.

 

Eventually, tour group leaders and participants straggled in.  Don't pass this on but, in truth, the session was organized chaos – in two languages.  Nonetheless, I enjoyed the surroundings, and I looked underfoot for things that might test Virginia Cobb's observation.

 

Back at home, though, I found a more useful model in a piece of driftwood collected somewhere else -- and pretended that it fit the concept.

 

With this at hand, I created a pretty quick splash entitled "Ravine at Low Water – Hydration Series" (copyright 2025). 

 

Remember my semi-serious theory that if I painted in very large size, I could hang with Gerhart Richter?   

 

Spectacular, isn't it?  Even if hung upside down or in the wrong orientation.

 

 

Now – just one more thing before we put Still Creek to bed:--(Don't even read this if birds freak you out).  Our local beach bum crows have one of their massive roosts in this area.   From Fall until the following late Spring, thousands of their kind migrate daily from beaches and coastal margins to East Vancouver and beyond.  At first light, westward to the beach; at early sunset, back again eastward to the roosts.  Just scroll through the pictures here to see what this mass flight looks like.

 

One of the pleasures of The Yellow House is that it's right under one of their flight paths.  As much as I've complained about the new building to the north blocking my mountain view, I delight in seeing them making a rest stop there, morning and evening.  A couple hundred might perch on the carpentry and crane, chatter away for a bit, and then with a WHOOSH, they're off in what seems a single coordinated movement.

 

And now, lights out on Summer Camp 2025.  It's been tons of fun, at least for those inclined to high jinx.

 

 

Homeward bound

 

Summer camp is drawing to a close, and we've covered a lot of ground in the interests of "Hydration".  This peaceful image is my friend G's house, just half a block from mine, and just possibly, it might be responsible for my original interest in Vancouver's hidden streams.

 

Her husband grew up in this house, his parents', and decades later, he and his bride became its proud owners.  I never knew him, but she told me stories he'd passed on – including the good times he and his pals had, playing in the creek that once ran just a block and a half from where I live. 

 

Click to enlarge this map, and just at the bottom right of the big yellow box, you'll see my small blue circle – encompassing G's house and mine, just west of the intersection through which that vigorous stream once ran.

 

Today, our local library branch is a stone's throw (shades of those scampy little boys!) from that intersection – and the library has done a nice job of dedicating some wall space to posters telling the local story.

 

Another brewery!  Well, you need to hydrate when you're busy operating a farm or nursery, like Mr. George Benson.

 

G's parents-in-law must have known the man.  Indirectly, his legacy lives on in the official name of this area of the city:-- Kensington-Cedar Cottage.

 

The final sentence of the library's storyboard lists the abundant marine life in what was then Gibson Creek.  No wonder environmental enthusiasts are interested in "daylighting" some of these long-gone streams.

 

Well, what was I going to do with this, as my finale in the Summer Camp Hydration Series?  Maybe something incorporating the rings of the tree stumps along G's block, remnants of aging cherry trees that had to be taken down.  (Vancouver and cherry trees make a complicated story). 

 

Using paraffin and rice paper, I made rubbings of parts of some stumps.

 

A nice abstract, but the rings were just too shallow for the rubbing to "take."  Then one morning, I woke up thinking of topographic maps, which I'd loved playing with after learning about them in 6^th grade.  Wow – that would be something:--  my neighbourhood with all its ups and downs.

 

Oh, darn.  Not a good idea, after all.  I quickly confused the look of topographic maps with the look of aerial maps.

 

Time and tides wait for no Person, and I needed to move on.  The solution?  I just plunged right into the water (resisting the temptation to add small boys' bare feet).

 

Nothing very satisfying about that so I became more definite, with colour and with lines bordering the wave movements.  Here it is:  "Daylighting the Hidden Stream – Hydration Series," copyright 2025.  (Yes, I smile too when I add "copyright" to some of these rough productions).

 

Later that day, I was gathering papers for recycling and came across this small magazine from early spring.  What a joke!! – I should have just copied its eye-catching cover!!

 

Now, to come full circle, here's that famous intersection today, thanks to Google Streetview – a multi-storey tower replaces the old brewery, and the library branch and a grocery store occupy the ground level of the adjacent lower tower.

 

Somewhere down below, the old stream is still showing its stuff.  Thanks to water seepage, the lane between the towers was closed off for four months' maintenance last year – a deep hole was dug and new fill applied to the sealing layer.  Let's see how long that lasts!

 

Every season brings its new adventures.  Where will next year's summer camp take us?

 

 

 

 

 

The sound of silence (or something) at Still Creek

 

 

Here's a favourite place of mine – Il Centro, the Italian Cultural Centre of Vancouver – just a short bus ride from my home base.  The fabulous art director at their gallery -- Il Museo  -- curates 4-6 exhibits a year, and I try to catch each one.  After viewing July's exhibit, I ambled through nearby Beaconsfield Park and saw construction signs posted.

 

Hey!!  Hydration!!  I'd heard of Still Creek, of course, but didn't know of this significant City of Vancouver project – and its evolving success, bringing spawning salmon back to its waters.  You can scroll down in this City link for a YouTube video and see lots of salmon in action, in just the first two minutes.

 

On my July visit, the wetlands recovery was just getting underway.

 

Back at home, I was soon delving into all kinds of internet sources.  Here's a vintage photo that slightly resembles the outflow shown beyond the blue fencing.

 

Here's another, which could be anywhere along the course of the creek, showing early 20^th century boys doing what boys do.

 

It was time for me to get going on my next production, and I was still uncertain what to do.  Putting a sombre base coat on my panel qualified, at least, as "doing something rather than nothing."

 

And, you know what?  I'd already had my fill of abstraction.  I wanted to get back to people in their settings.  That outflow and bridge looked promising – add two small boys in knickers, maybe?

 

Well, suddenly the ground shook.  Earthquake?  Revelation?  Realization!  It was the middle of August, and how could I have forgotten what was about to erupt on the world stage?!

 

 

 

And here they were!  I didn't need to do a thing except push some paint around and get out of their way.  Here's "Tsunami at Still Creek" – Hydration Series, copyright 2025.

 

"This is zany," you say?  Here's the guy to hold responsible – Zanni, one of the stock characters of the Commedia dell'Arte.  (and yes, the source of the English word "zany.")

 

 Just think:  As of September 1^st, this whole gang has another 21 days to go!